


To Teach a Zero

by L3t_U5_D0_That_Aga1n



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, ゼロの使い魔 | Zero no Tsukaima | The Familiar of Zero
Genre: Dovahkiin has completed all there is to be done and then some, Dovahkiin is gonna fuck some shit up, Halkeginia is a fucked up place, Louis will actually learn magic, Odahviing is a big softy underneath all that immortal rage, Old Dovahkiin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:03:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L3t_U5_D0_That_Aga1n/pseuds/L3t_U5_D0_That_Aga1n
Summary: She's been called a talentless student, destined for a life of mediocrity. All the Dovahkiin hears is a challenge to be conquered.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Unintended Consequences

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

**“ _BO NAH GUT_ , I grow tired of this pointless discourse.” **

**“ _VAHZAH_ , I invited you here to rest and meditate, not dredge up _WUTH_ _GLOZ_.”**

**“ _RUTH!_ I say that this is important. For too long the subject has _MAHLAAN IREID_. We finish it, now!”**

**“Shut up, the lot of you!”**

**At once, Durnehviir, Paarthurnax, and Odahviing turned their heads, frowning at their Thuri (or Prustiik, in Paarthurnax’s case).**

**“** **My apologies, Johan _,_ I had hoped this might have been a peaceful endeavor. Evidently, our soskiin do not share that desire,”** **Paarthurnax groused from his perch.**

**“I do not have a problem,”** **Odahviing indignantly stated,** **“It is this _GOLAH BOZOK_ that _ILIIS NEBEN REYTH_.”**

**Durnehviir roared, “** **You dare! _FO KRAH DIIIIN!_ ” ** **he roared into the sky, turning the already frigid air into ice, raining down upon the three dragons (and one dragonborn). He levelled a smoldering glare at Odahviing, “** **Count yourself fortunate that we never met during Alduin’s reign! I would have devoured you _KOSIL LOKRAANRO PAS_!”**

**Odahviing hissed, stalking forward; Durnehviir did the same. As they stood scant feet from one another, growling and glaring, puffing up their chests to prepare to shout the other down.**

**“** **_JOOR!_ ** **”**

**A wave of light blue energy washed over the dragons, causing them to cry and out fold their wings inward in an attempt to wave off the incomprehensible dread that washed over their souls.**

**Paarthurnax snaked his head up, nodding at Johan, “** **_DII KOGAN.”_ **

**Johan nodded in turn, “Of course. Now, can we get back to meditating?” he directed the question at the two irritated dragons.**

**Odahviing scoffed, turning away. Durnehviir, though, sighed,** **“As you wish, Thuri; I can sense my time growing short, so I shall spend it here, with you.** **”**

**Johan smiled, returning to his meditation pose; which was less ‘cross your legs and clasp your hands together,’ and more ‘cross your legs and levitate a Mage Staff in the air,’ but it cleared his mind all the same.**

**Paarthurnax joined him, Durnehviir following soon after. Even Odahviing—though still somewhat grouchy—joined the group.**

**The mountaintop soon reached a relative sense of quiet (relative due to the fact that a near eternal snowstorm raged just below the peak). Eventually, Durnehviir rose, “** **My time has come** **,” he intoned.**

**Johan pulled his staff into his right hand, standing to meet Durnehviir’s gaze, “Until tomorrow, old friend.”**

**Durnehviir nodded, and with a quiet gasp, disappearing in a swirl of black and purple mist.**

**Odahviing sniffed as the mist wafted upwards, “** **Even after all these years, I cannot stand the stench of the Soul Cairn.** **”**

**Johan cocked a brow, “Can’t be any worse than burnt flesh?”**

**“** **Bah, that is as Bormah intended. The Soul Cairn is an aberration upon Lein.”**

**Paarthurnax chuckled at the exchange; he then let out a panicked yell.**

**Odahviing and Johan whirled around, eyes widening in alarm at the sight of a green portal sucking in the residual mist.**

**Johan immediately jumped backwards, barking out the command, “** **_BO!”_ **

**Neither dragon needed to be told twice; however, while Paarthurnax gained sufficient height, Odahviing found himself stalling in the air for a moment, before slowly getting pulled towards the portal.**

**Odahviing roared in distress, shouting “** **_SU GRAH DUN,”_ ** **surrounding his wings with air, allowing him to beat them faster. But to no avail.**

**Jonah sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. Once at maximum lung capacity, he shouted, with all his might, “** **_FUS RO DAH!”_ ** **aiming at Odahviing.**

**The wave of power knocked into the dragon, forcing him sideways and away from the portal. He landed in a heap, dizzy, but alive.**

**Soon, all the mist from Durnehviir’s exit had disappeared through the portal, and things were calm. Until the portal doubled in size, and once more Odahviing moved towards it, only stopping when he locked his jaw around a boulder.**

**Johan took another deep breath, only for it all to leave his lungs as he was lifted off the ground, towards the portal.**

**“** **Johan! Odahviing!”** **Paarthurnax cried.**

**Johan, who’d managed to grab ahold of a large rock, replied, “Stay away, Paarthurnax! Get to safety!” As he said this, the portal’s pull grew stronger yet again, and Odahviing roared as the rock he held cracked apart at its base.**

**Johan simply lost his grip and fell screaming into the portal alongside Odahviing.**

**Line Break**

**Professor Jean Colbert pulled out his handkerchief, wiping his brow, “Excellent display. And a fine familiar as well.”**

**The student, a brown-haired boy of average features, thanked him, leading his familiar—a floating eyeball—away from the center of the field and, presumably, to show off his new familiar to his friends.**

**He performed a quick headcount, frowning as he noticed that one student—a rather infamous one, through no true fault of her own—had yet to perform the ritual.**

**“Mademoiselle Louise Françoise de La Vallière, could you please step forward,” he called out to the sea of students.**

**Within seconds, the petite, fair-skinned, pink-haired heiress strode forward, and within seconds, her peers flung all sorts of crass, demeaning insults at her—calling her ‘talentless,’ ‘a waste of noble blood,” and, most commonly, ‘Zero’.**

**To her credit (earning no small amount of Colbert’s respect) she did not waver in her step—nor did she ever—only narrowing her eyes as she continued forward, stopping just a few feet in front of Colbert.**

**He gestured to the center of the field, “Mademoiselle, if you would?”**

**She took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her wand. She then turned on her heel, aiming her tool forward. “** My servant that exists somewhere in this vast universe. My divine, beautiful, wise, powerful servant, heed my call. I wish from very bottom of my heart and add to my guidance and appear!” Colbert hummed; a bit dramatic, but it was nothing compared to Monsieur Garmont’s short monologue.

 

At once, an explosion burst to life from the center of the field, followed by dark gray—and strangely enough, purple—smoke, and a biting cold.

 

Colbert surreptitiously summoned a flame from his staff, warming his body. Perhaps she had summoned some sort of ice creature?

 

Yet, after such a violent beginning, there was a lull; the smoke neither cleared, nor disappeared, but nothing exited it.

 

Louis’s stone visage started to crack, and some snide mummers started to crop up from the sidelines.

 

Before Colbert could say anything, however, there was another explosion of cold—followed by snow, actual snow! —and a booming thud.

 

The smoke dissipated, and revealed the most intimidating dragon Colbert had ever seen (and he’d seen quite a few in his days as a soldier and instructor).

 

For one, it only had two proper legs, hindlegs; the forelimbs were much like a bat’s, wings with claws at the tips. Red scales lined its face, horns, body, and legs, and black spikes ran across its spine; but unlike the smooth, graceful scales of the other dragon on the field—Mademoiselle Tabitha’s, he recalled—these were thick, obviously meant to guard against heavy blows. The wings themselves were, curiously, not wholly like the rest of it, but smattered with pale white and dark blue—almost as if it had been stripped away in battle.

 

But by far, the most distressing part of this beast was its _size._ Though crouched—and a little dazed, by the look of it—Colbert could tell that he would barely come up to its knees. And based on its toothy maw, could at least bite off the top of his entire upper body, should it feel so inclined.

 

Then, it’s eyes snapped open, revealing an appropriately reptilian yellow eye, but what struck Colbert was the rage that smoldered within.

 

It growled, the sound reminding Colbert of a rockslide, and rose to its feet.

 

It roared. Roared so loud that Colbert was certain Commoners miles around would gaze upon the sky and wonder why it thundered on such a clear day.

 

Then, to his mounting horror, it reared its head back, chest puffing outward, wings extending to their full length.

 

Immediately, he gripped his staff in both hands, recalling a number of water spells, and a few earth spells, that could mitigate the damage this dragon would incur.

 

Suddenly, a ball of fire crashed into the beast’s face.

 

Colbert’s heart stopped, dreading to know which of his students was foolhardy enough to attack the dragon in a vain attempt of stopping it. However, an elderly voice yelling, “Hold!” scant seconds after the fireball exploded put that fear to rest—another staff member, then.

 

But that thought was quickly dismissed as a figure walked through the remaining smoke. It was an older man, perhaps as old as Headmaster Osmund, but with a much shorter—but no less kept—grey beard. Thick, grey eyebrows rested above old, wizened blue eyes, which rested upon a somewhat wrinkled face of light complexion. In his hands, he held an ornate copper staff, with rings encircling an orange stone atop it. He a wore long, dark robe, with some sort of buckle sewn into the middle.

 

This mage was obviously powerful—or perhaps simply fearless—given the way he turned to the dragon, lightly rapping its knee. “It won’t do if you were to attack what are obviously children,” he said to the dragon.

 

The beast snorted but lowered its head and folded its wings back up against its body, standing parallel to the ground. It let out the breath it held, warm, foul breath assaulting Colbert’s (and a few others, given their cries) nose.

 

The man grunted, turning to faze upon his surroundings. His eyes were sharp, flitting back and forth rapidly. Colbert immediately recognized the man as a soldier—perhaps not currently, but then, age never really plagued a mage like it did a commoner. He then cleared his throat, resting both his hands on his staff, “I say, young man,” he had an accent Colbert couldn’t place at the moment, “could you tell me why me and my friend have appeared here?”

 

Colbert stood straighter, meeting the man’s gaze, “You,” he quickly shifted his gaze to the dragon, which eyed him with, shockingly, a degree of intelligence, “ are at the Tristain Academy of Magic.”

 

The man hummed, lightly running his hands along his beard, “I’m afraid we are far from home, old friend,” he loudly muttered at the dragon.

 

“U-Um, Professor Colbert?” a young, feminine voice called form his side.

 

It was then that Colbert remembered that Louis had summoned the dragon before them…and the elderly man as well.

 

He put a hand to his chin; this was unprecedented. Never before had a human being been summoned along with an animal. Sure, there have been times where a student would accidently summon multiple animals—he recalled his own schooldays, seemingly a lifetime ago, when one of his peers summoned an entire family of chipmunks. And a student some ten years ago that summoned a cat that was in the middle of nursing its litter.

 

“Professor?” Louis asked once more, somewhat forcefully.

 

Colbert shook his head, “Of course,” he smiled at Louis, “Forgive me, I was simply taken aback by this strange turn of events.” He gestured for her to move forward, which she did with gusto.

 

At this, the man held up a hand, “Excuse me, what are you doing?”

 

“Oh, well you Monsieur….” he trailed off, realizing he’d yet to hear the man’s name.

 

“Johan,” the man supplied, “Johan…Stormcrown

 

Colbert nodded, “Johan. I’m Jean Colbert, a professor at the Academy. Mademoiselle Louis seeks to bind the dragon before us as her familiar.”

 

There was a brief pause. Then, Johan chuckled, eyeing Louis, who paused under the man’s gaze. Eventually, he smiled, showing off an immaculate set of teeth, “Then by all means, child, go ahead.”

 

Louis frowned at Johan’s teasing tone but strode forward nonetheless. “Pentagram of the five elemental powers,” she began, stepping ever closer to the dragon’s snout.

 

Just then, the beast inhaled, and Colbert tensed, a chant ready to burst forth from his lips. Thankfully, it did not breath fire, but the resulting exhale was strong enough to knock Louis onto her back, shock clear on her face.

 

The dragon huffed repeatedly—laughter, Colbert realized—and raised its head, roaring into the sky. Extending its wings to their full length, it beat them once, twice, three times; rustling the grass, the trees, even the banners atop the walls.

 

Within a minute, it had lifted into the air, high above the academy. It banked to the left, away from the sun, and flew far, far away, until it was not even a speck in the distance.

 

A throat cleared to his left, and Colbert turned to see that Johan has walked over to him, “I say, Professor, might I get some food, or at the very least, a place to rest my feet?”

 

Colbert blinked, “Oh, of course! Let me lead you to the mess hall,” he shook his head, that’s what happens when he lapses back into his training, “Er, the cafeteria.”

 

Johan nodded, and walked forward a few steps, before pausing. “I say,” he began, “This is a school, is it not?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And this was a school sanctioned activity, correct?”

 

Colbert frowned, wondering where this was going.

 

“So, where are all the students?”

 

Colbert’s eyes widened; he whirled around, cursing his tunnel-vision for blinding him to the fact that the majority of his class had disappeared.

 

“Would you like some help gathering them all up?”

 

Colbert shook his head, “No, thank you for the offer,” he said sincerely, “but this is my folly. Besides, you do not know the property as well as I.” He pointed to a door, leading inside the Academy, “Just enter those doors, and there should be a servant nearby that can lead you to the cafeteria.”

 

Johan smiled, nodding at Colbert. Then, with a spring in his step seldom seen in a man his age, he entered the Academy.

 

Colbert sighed, scanning the field and analyzing all the possible routes his students could have taken. Only for his gaze to fall on Louise François, who was still on her back, staring disbelievingly at the sky.

 

His breath caught in his throat, and a heavy weight settled in his heart. But, such were his duties.

 

He walked forward, offering his hand to the heiress, which she slowly accepted.

 

After giving her a moment to dust herself off, Colbert said, “Mademoiselle Vallière, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

 

Her face scrunched in confusion, but it soon smoothed as cold realization swept over her. She paled, “No, no, no, no,” she murmured helplessly.

 

“I’m afraid,” he began, “that your failure of the Summoning Ritual has forced the Academy’s hand.”

 

She shook her head fervently, “B-B-But I performed the spell! I summoned a dragon!” she shouted desperately.

 

Sadly, Colbert shook his head, “Completing the Ritual means both summoning an animal, and binding it as your familiar. Unfortunately, you failed the second part.”

 

She spluttered her next few words, before dipping her head down, eyes firmly planted at her feet. “…I understand, Professor Colbert.”

 

His heart wept at her blank voice, but he would not allow personal feelings to impede his duties, “You will have until sundown tomorrow to empty your things and take a carriage home. Shall I send a letter to your family?”

 

“No, I shall.” With that said, she quickly brushed past him, heading for her dorms.

 

Colbert sighed as she disappeared into the building. A terrible thing, expulsion; especially for someone who—despite lacking talent—was studious and determined.

 

Still, hers would not be the worst fate to befall a young woman. As a daughter of the Vallière family, she would be married off to a decent man—no one would dare mistreat Karin ‘The Heavy Wind’ Vallière’s child—and provided for until her death. Still, to waste such a mind…a terrible shame.

**A/N: I’m going to put translations for uncommon words after my A/N’s. Some are collected from a list of phrases, others from a Dovahzul-to-English translator (may not be completely accurate, but eh, what’ll you do). Also, in case you couldn’t tell, things might end up a little different than most FoZ crossovers. How different? Wait and see. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**

**Translations:**

**\--BO NAH GUT: Fly Fury Far/ Leave (in an irritated sense)**

**\--WUTH GLOZ: Old Grudge**

**\--MAHLAAN IREID: Fallen aside**

**\--PRUSTIIK: Student**

**-SOSKIIN: Siblings**

**\--GOLAH BOZOK: Stubborn Bull**

**\--ILIIS NEBEN REYTH: Hides Beneath the Trees**

**\--KOSIL LOKRAANRO PAS: Within a Bird’s Flap**

**\--DII KOGAN: My Thanks**

**\--LEIN: The World**

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Decisions, Decisions

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Johan scowled as he pushed aside yet another map—this one far older than the rest—his worst fears finally confirmed. He and Odahviing were transported to another plane of existence, separate from Nirn. Not a realm of Oblivion, nor Aetherius, for two simple reasons: he would recognize the change in the air, and he would have been accosted by at least one Aedric or Daedric being.

Briefly, he entertained the idea that he'd landed in Lyg, a place he admittedly knew little about, but he did know that Men were not the dominant people.

Thus, he was left with a conundrum. How to get back home. He hummed in thought, an idea flitting into his head. Lifting his left hand, he concentrated on his Magicka, pooling it together. He searched within his soul for the permanent mark Oblivion had left on it and pulled harshly.

There was a small flash of purple flickering in-and-out within his hand. He frowned; there was resistance. He tried once more, holding both hands close together, pooling more energy into the spell. There was more give, a hint of a sphere of dark mist, but still, no spell took hold.

He cursed, dropping his hands onto his lap. Pointing his palm up, he called upon a different branch of magic, grunting as a flame burst to life in his hands. He narrowed his eyes, and the flame dissipated, green transparent cubes taking its place, and once again, replacing the cubes with a warm white glow, and replacing that with a cool blue mist.

"At least everything else works," he muttered grouchily.

He knew that Conjuration could work, he just needed to burst past that initial hurdle.

He grinned widely, perhaps the Thu'um would prove effective.

"U-Um, excuse me, Monsieur?" a timid young voice said behind him.

He looked over his shoulder, taking note of the young man—barely of age, given the fuzz on his chin—nervously staring at him. He recalled that the Professor, Colbert, called him 'Monsieur' as well, and idly wondered what the title meant.

He grunted, "What, boy?"

The boy flinched, "Y-You are the Mage Johan S-Stormcrown, yes?"

Johan furrowed his brows, "What of it?"

A gulp, "Headmaster Osmond request your presence."

Johan hummed, idly noting the servant's fear. He hadn't even done anything to warrant such a response. At least, not consciously.

Regardless, he stood, gripping his staff and waving at the young man, "Lead the way, then."

He bowed hastily, turning around to lead Johan forward.

He followed, but not before stuffing the most current map of the land into one of the many pockets hidden in his robes.

Silently, he followed the servant through the long corridors of the Academy; and he could not help but compare it to his own Magical Academy, the College of Winterhold (granted, he did study at Tamriel's other magical schools—for varied amounts of time—but the College would always hold a special place in his heart). For one thing, it was very, very fancy. Everything looked shiny and pristine, as if the fixtures and cabinets and vases and sculptures were dusted and shined every hour—which, given the maids brushing over the aforementioned items with feather dusters, may have been true.

The other thing he noticed, and a bit more unsettling, was how silent everything was. Aside from the occasional hum of a servant, the wind rushing through the trees, or birds singing their mating songs, it was utterly silent.

No students debating with each other on theories—sure, there were students roaming the halls, but they were all either silent or, if in a group, holding mundane discussions about 'love' and 'wealth'. No instructors yelling that their pupils are about to get themselves killed. No spells exploding—whether it was the intended result or not.

It was all a bit unnerving, if Johan was being honest.

But he had no further time to muse on life within the Academy; for he was in front of the Headmaster's office.

A secretary sat at a desk to the left of a pair of wide double doors. She was a fairly attractive woman, but the green head of hair atop her head made him pause. He recalled seeing a young girl with pink hair, and another with sky blue hair down in the field. It looked too good to be dyed, so that could only mean that these young women used magic to alter their hair color. A practice that had come up within Tamriel—he never understood it, but whatever.

The woman lifted her head up from her desk, "Thank you, Ciaran, you may leave."

The boy who guided him bowed, and quickly made his exit.

"You may enter, Monsieur Stormcrown."

Johan nodded at the young woman, pushing open the doors.

_SQUEAK SQUEAK_

Johan paused, looking underfoot. At the sight of a white mouse scurrying along the floor, he grunted. Lifting his staff in the air, he tilted it forward, adjusting his grip.

"Wait!" a man cried out desperately, punctuated by hands slapping against wood.

Johan paused, lifting his gaze to see an old man in blue robes and a very long (almost ridiculously so) white beard. Obviously, this was Headmaster Osmond. He was standing behind a large—what looked like oak—desk, leaning forward, a fearful look on his face.

Carefully, Johan pulled his staff back, raising a brow as tension visibly left the Headmaster's body. He sat back into a tall, red-leather seat, sighing in relief. Soon, the mouse had clambered up onto the desk, leaping up the man's body and resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, relieved, "I thank you, for stopping when you did."

Johan shrugged, "I feel I should apologize; after all, I almost killed your pet."

Osmond chuckled, "Oh, Chuchu is much more than a pet." The tiny rodent stood, squeaking into his ear. "Hmm, black, floral pattern, with red highlights. Must be new," he muttered.

Johan, not knowing or caring what Osmond and Chuchu were discussing, cleared his throat, "May I sit."

Osmond nodded, gesturing to a chair opposite him. Johan quickly walked over, sitting down. He let out an involuntary sigh.

Osmund smirked, "Comfy, isn't' it?"

Johan nodded, leaning back, "Yes, what is this stuffed with?"

Osmund shrugged, "Feathers, I couldn't tell you what kind, however." He leaned forward, steelping his fingers, "But enough about that. I hear you appeared, alongside a dragon, in the courtyard."

"Yes," Johan rested his staff across his lap, "It was…quite the experience." He furrowed his brow, "Can you tell me what happened? I asked one of your instructors, Jean Colbert, but I believe he forgot in the rush to find his missing students."

"Yes, but he was not the only to be lost, was he?" Osmond said, cocking an amused brow.

Johan scoffed, "Well, I wasn't about to get in the way of the cooks. After all, the kitchen can be," he lips twitched, "quite dangerous."

Osmond hummed, "You ate in the kitchen?"

"I took some bread, cheese, and ale."

"Awful light."

Johan shrugged, "You learn to live with little, among the mountains."

Osmond straightened, "You live in the mountains? The range along the southern border of Gallia?"

Johan smiled, even if he hadn't studied that map, he'd have been fine. "No, actually, the northeast, in Germania."

Osmond rubbed his beard, a sad sigh escaping his lips. "Those robes of yours do look well-suited for the Germanian cold." He frowned, "Though I must admit, I've never seen or heard of a dragon quite like the one in the courtyard earlier today." He eyed Johan, an unidentifiable gleam in his eyes, "Though I heard you were awfully chummy with the beast, would you be kind enough to share anything about it?"

Johan chuckled, "The 'beast' is called  ** _OD_** —" he paused, clearing his throat to stop the instinctive rumble tearing through his throat, "Odahviing, and he is no simple beast."

Osmond's eyebrows rose fractionally, "You mean to tell me that—Odahviing, was it?" he spoke somewhat hesitantly, but Johan nodded all the same, "That he is your familiar?"

Johan could not help but chuckle at that, "No, nothing like that." He smiled a small, genuine smile, "Odahviing is an old friend."

Osmond hummed, "Any ideas where this old friend has gone?" At Johan's furrowed brow, he added, "Well, a dragon the likes of which I have never seen, summoned by one of my students, is loose upon Tristain. I need to report something back to the Palace."

Johan hummed, running his left and through his beard, "Odahviing is a free spirit, he roams where he pleases. But so long as he is left alone, he will not cause any harm." He refused to broach the fact that, if attacked, Odahviing would mercilessly slaughter all around him—and if in a really bad mood, might burn the surrounding area to the ground.

"I see," Osmond pouted slightly, "Well, at the very least, can you tell me if he will be heading east, back to Germania?"

Johan tilted his head, "It's…highly possible. If he can't find a suitable place to roost anywhere nearby, he will attempt to get back home."

"And where is that?"

Johann averted his gaze, recalling some particularly embarrassing memories in order to bring a blush to his face, "I'm…afraid to say that I didn't really look at any maps when I set out in my hermitage. But I'm sure I can figure it out once I hit the road in the morning."

Osmond frowned, "'The morning'? But you've just arrived, through very unorthodox mean as well. Why, I'd spend at least a week in bed myself."

Johan smiled, "That may be so, but I've devoted myself to a particular lifestyle, and I'd like to, if not keep my vows, then return to them as soon as possible."

Osmond nodded, "A respectable endeavor." He spread his hands, "At the very least, let me offer you a place to stay for the night before you begin your journey, and some assistance in finding out what mountain you claimed as home."

Johan grunted, "It would be rude to reject a place to stay, but years ago I set out on my path alone, and I shall do so once again." He pursed his lips, "Although…might we be able to send me directly back by reversing the spell performed at the courtyard."

Osmond shook his head, "My apologies, but reversing the Summoning Spell, why," he chuckled lightly, "that would take a Void mage."

Johan chuckled along with Osmond, internally cursing the new term—that meant there was an entire branch of magic here that he knew nothing about. Of course, the fact every student he'd seen had a staff or a wand on their person was a tad odd, but he'd just assumed they were blanks for a staff-enchanting course.

Outwardly, however, he stood, a jovial smile on his face, "If you will permit me, Headmaster, I will take my leave. It is getting dark, after all."

Osmond turned his head, squinting at the setting sun, "Yes…I suppose it is." He stood, "Mademoiselle Longueville can direct you to a guest quarters you can stay in for the night." He bowed his head slightly, "I wish you a pleasant night, and journey come the morning."

Johan inclined his head, "And may your school and students prosper in the years to come."

**Line Break**

Johann soundlessly moved through the corridors, easily flitting from shadow to shadow.

Despite the ease with which he moved, he could not help but be disappointed. By Magnus, this was an academy! Forget whatever secrets the held within, there were students here! And yet, not a guard—either hired hand or faculty, or atronach—in sight. He shook his head as he stepped outside; if he was years younger he would have stripped this entire place down to the bone on principle alone.

But, gone was the impulsiveness of youth; in its place, calm focus.

That focus faltered, however, when sobbing reached his ears. But these were not the sobs of a homesick, or lovesick if the case may be, child. No, this was true grief, as if the sobbing party had just witnessed all their hopes and dreams die a horrible, agonizing death.

Unable to cur b his curiosity, he followed the sound, ending up just below second-story window. But he was not the only one there, for just below the window was a young, black-haired maid. She held a basket of clothes in her arms, gazing sadly up at the window.

Stepping forward from the shadows, he cleared his throat. This caused the woman to yelp, spinning around and dropping the basket. It would have hit the ground, were it not for a timely spell from Johan.

The young woman stared at the floating basket, incredulous. Once more, Johan cleared his throat, "I believe this is the part where you pick up the basket."

That shook her out of her stupor, though now she just eyed him incredulously. Gesturing with his free hand, she took the cue, hesitantly reaching for the basket, as if it would disappear before her very eyes. Finally, she grabbed the basket, and Johan closed his hand, cancelling the spell.

The woman sighed, "My apologies, Monsieur. Students have done a similar thing, only they ended the spell, and everything fell to the ground."

Johan frowned, "Well, I hope those cretins were suitably punished."

She smiled mirthlessly, "Oh, it's not worth the trouble."

Johan's frown deepened, but instead of focusing on that, he turned his head back to the window. "…Do you know who's up there?"

The woman turned back to the window, her expression once more turning sad. "Oh, that's Mademoiselle Louise. She's had such a hard time here and is finally being expelled."

Johan cocked a brow, "Well, she obviously disagrees with the decision," he dryly commented.

The woman shook her head, "It's not just that. Being expelled confirms her worst fears."

"What do you mean?"

The woman gazed up at the window, turned left and right, then quickly strode forward. She stopped just a few feet in front of Johan, who leaned in closer, indulging her 'sneaky' behavior. "It means that she has no talent as a Mage and is a disgrace amongst Nobles, a true Zero."

"No talent," Johan muttered, "that can't be right. Did she not summon a dragon this afternoon?"

The woman shrugged, "Maybe so, but that's one success out of at least a year's worth of failures."

Johan frowned, it seems that he had ruined this young girl's life. Well, in all honesty, he'd probably saved the young girl's life; had he not been there, Odahviing would have most likely killed the poor girl before she could attempt her binding spell.

He frowned, "Wait, what do you mean by 'a year's worth of failures'? What happened to all her other spells?"

The woman nodded, "They all blows up in her face, literally," she added as an afterthought.

Johan zeroed in on that last word, "She…causes  _explosions_?"

"Yes," the maid's expression soured, "Leaves a terrible mess for us to clean up." She then gasped, covering her mouth with a hand, "Oh! Forgive me, I spoke out of turn!"

Johan idly waved her off, "It's fine, my dear. You can have an opinion." He returned his gaze to the window, noting that the sobs had quieted immensely, though he could still hear light weeping if he strained his ears.

A girl with no talent with spells but could also cause explosions whenever she attempted a spell. Orin brit ro if he'd ever heard one. But why did she cause explosions? Was her mind just hardwired for destructive spells? Did she overload her spells with too much energy? Did she—

He stopped himself; he could not afford to entertain such thoughts right now.

Instead, he returned his attention back to the young woman, who was staring at the window as well. His heart welled with pity—something he hadn't truly felt in years—for the young girl hidden away up there, the so-called talentless mage. He let out a breath, "Well, this has been a lovely conversation Miss…" he trailed off.

"Siesta," the woman readily supplied with a bow.

Johan nodded in turn, "Siesta," he gestured to himself, "My name is Johan." He smiled softly at her, "Until we meet again."

"Yes. Have a good night, Monsieur," she replied with a smile. She turned around, walking away, humming a wordless tune.

Johan took one last look at Louise's room. He snorted derisively, no talent, what a load of tripe.

**Line Break**

Johan hummed, eyeing the clearing he'd found. Yes, this would do.

He sucked in a deep breath, and shouted into the night sky, " ** _ODAHVIING!"_**  After a quick pause, he added, " ** _DEIN NAHLON!_** "

He lifted his head up, clicking his tongue at the two moons—one blue, one pink—hanging in the night sky. Another piece of evidence towards the land being Lyg, but not enough to definitively say so.

He waited for another moment, taking in the cool night air, when a winged silhouette soared through the air, blocking the stars.

Silently, Odahviing landed in the clearing. Johan scowled as he was illuminated by moonlight, dried blood staining his maw. "What did you kill?"

Odahviing smirked, " **A mockery of Bormah's vision**."

Johan's scowl lessened to a frown, "There are dov here?"

" **Bah!"**  Odahviing spat, " **They are not fit to be called Dovah! They are naught more than** ** _HEFAHUS SIVAAS_** **. They lack the Thu'um, a Dovahsil, and they allow joor freely to ride upon their backs, saddled like a common horse!"**  He sniffed,  **"And they taste terrible."**

Johan balked at the idea of a saddled dragon, agreeing with Odahviing; no true Dovah would allow themselves to be subjugated as such. A flash of light then erupted within his mind, "Wait, what about their riders?"

Odahviinh's vicious grin told him all he needed to know. He sighed, "You didn't do this in public, at least?"

The dragon shook his head, " **Nid, it was just them, and myself."**

Johan crossed his arms, "Did you leave any evidence?"

He shook his head, " **I limited myself to my teeth and claws. The forest we fought above was too dense; no sense in needlessly burning the entire place down."**

Johan smiled, "Caring about collateral damage? Has Paarthurnax finally gotten through those thick scales of yours?"

Odahviing grimaced,  **"…I will not deny that he lives up to his name.** " He then levelled a glare at Johan, " **And do not dare inform him of this conversation!"**

Johan chuckled, "No, it'll just be another  ** _SOVEN_** I can hold over you," he said teasingly.

Odahviing growled good-naturedly. He then adopted a serious look, " **I assume you are aware that we are no longer on Nirn."**

"Yes," Johan sighed, "Do you have any idea where we are? I've already ruled out Oblivion and Aetherius. Could this by Lyg?"

Odahviing hummed, " **No…I've devoured Dov that visited Lyg, and this is definitely not it."**

"Dovah have been to Lyg?"

Odahviing shrugged,  **"Not many. From what I have been able to ascertain, it is too far to justify a visit too, to say nothing of the fact that it is mostly wasteland now."**

Johan shook his head, "Okay, there goes that slight hope. Regardless, I seek to summon Durnehviir."

Odahviing scoffed in mild distaste,  **"Why do you seek my permission for this?"**

Johan rolled his eyes, "Something is blocking my connection to Oblivion; I may need help in pulling him through."

Odahviing grumbled beneath his breath, but didn't object to his plan, so Johan decided to act.

He took a deep breath, " ** _DUR NEH VIIR!"_**  he shouted into the clearing.

Suddenly, a cold chill entered the air; Johan shivered and Odahviing growled lowly. A tiny vortex made of purple mist started to form in the middle of the clearing, growing taller and wider, to Johan's quiet joy.

Then something went wrong.

The vortex lost its shape, expanding wildly. Johan stepped back, setting up a large ward to cover both him and Odahviing. Just in time too, as the moment after the ward set in, the spell exploded, pushing against the protective barrier.

Johan waited a moment, dropping the ward as the mist dissipated.

There was a pregnant pause, which Odahviing broke, saying, " **At least you tried."**

Johan scoffed, reaching up to smack the dragon's neck, "Help me."

Odahviing huffed at both the action and command, but nonetheless took a steadying breath.

" ** _DUR NEH VIIR!"_**  They both shouted.

Once again, a vortex of purple mist formed before them. Only this time, instead of growing larger and losing its form, it shrank down, rising up to a familiar, draconic shape. But then, things started to devolve into shapeless vapor once more.

"Once more!" Johan roared.

" ** _DUR NEH VIIR!"_**

The mist shook violently, and the earth rumbled beneath their feet. Thunder sounded overhead; but when the pair looked up, they only saw the twin moons quaking violently in the sky.

Then, finally, a metallic whine—the tell-tale sound of something crossing over from Oblivion—assaulted their ears. Followed by a loud, grateful roar.  **"Thuri!"**  Durnehviir cried,  **"I knew you yet lived!** " He then turned his gaze to Odahviing, good mood immediately dying,  **"Ah…I should have known you'd survive."**

Odahviing growled,  **"Watch yourself,** ** _LIIVOR PRAKEM,_** **or you'll be sent back to your prison in pieces!"**

Johan, silently amused at the latest edition to their feud, clapped his hands before the two could come to blows. "That's enough you two; we have more important things at hand."

The two dragons sobered, and Durnehviir turned his gaze to Johan,  **"How long have you been here?"**

"About 8 hours," Johan replied.

Durnehviir nodded, " **That is good. Two hours ago, Paarthurnax summoned me back to Nirn after a six hour wait."**

" **So, time in this realm runs** ** _REID NAAL REID_** **with Nirn,"**  Odahviing surmised.

Johan sighed, "At least we won't have to worry about any damn 'You've been gone for fifty years!' inanity."

" **Unfortunately, that is the only good news."**  Odahviing and Johan both inhaled sharply. Durnehviir continued, " **Neither I, nor Paarthurnax, nor any of his Greybeards have any idea how to reopen the portal that stole you two away. They are already drafting a letter for Serana to come and provide assistance."**  He hummed,  **"At least I now have an idea of what energies to look for when she arrives."**

"Well, unfortunately I don't think you can expect any help from our end."

Odahviing narrowed his eyes, " **What do you mean?"**

Johan waved a hand, "They have a different system of magic here. I'm sure I can twist it to my use, but the type of magic that could take us home—Void—is either exceedingly rare or fallen into myth," he clicked his tongue, "I need to do research it more before I can definitively say it can be of use.

Odahviing hummed, " **So, we are reliant on our allies on Nirn unless you find a way to use this 'Void' magic.** " He grunted, " **Either way, I suspect we will be here for a while.** "

"Hmm," Johan frowned, "Well, at least I've found something to keep me occupied."

Odahviing and Durnehviir blinked, " **What do you mean?"**  the latter asked.

Johan smiled, taking a deep breath before explaining his plans.

**A/N: Splitting this up into two, got too long. Next chapter is when things really get pear-shaped. Also, unless spoken by a dragon, or used in a shout, new words will only be bold and italicized when first used. Otherwise, be sure to leave a review. Later.**

**Translations:**

**-DEIN NAHLON: Keep Silent**

**-HEFAHUS SIVAAS: Mindless Beasts**

**-SOVEN: Secret**

**-LIIVOR PRAKEM: Rot Snake**

**-REID NAAL REID: Side by Side**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The Start of Something Beautiful

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Louise held her pillow tight against her chest, sniffing repeatedly, but refusing to shed a tear—she'd already broken her mother's 'Rule of Steel' just 10 minutes ago, she would not shame her family anymore.

Suddenly, there was a quick series of knocks on her door.

Louise grit her teeth, probably that damn Germanian tramp again; couldn't she take a hint!

The knocking returned, increasing in tempo.

Louise grit her teeth, "Go away!" she croaked, cursing the fact that she sounded so weak.

"Ah, you're awake then," a muffled voice that most decidedly not belong to Kirche Zerbst replied.

Louise rose from her bed, "W-Who are you?"

"My name is Johan Stormcrown. We met on the field earlier today."

Ah, Louise remembered him. She felt tears well up in her eyes at the reminder of her monumental failure, but a quick wipe from her sleeve erased those from existence. "What do you want?" she said in the most Noble voice she could muster.

"I wish to talk," Johan said, "Could you open the door?"

Louise scowled, not wishing to talk. But she knew it would be rude to just dismiss the older man when he came all this way—besides, it's not like she was going to sleep anytime soon. She quickly checked herself in her vanity mirror, scowling lightly at her red eyes—but she could just say that she'd been up late studying; no sense in letting this man know her shame.

Taking a calming breath, she opened the door, immediately finding herself face-to-face with a dull metal buckle. She tilted her head up, mildly awed at how  _tall_  this man was compared to her.

Immediately, the man frowned, "You've been crying," he bluntly stated.

Louise scowled.

"But, I suppose that is fair, given what's happened," he continued in a much softer tone.

Louise stilled, shame welling up in her soul; even some strange foreigner knew of her plight!

"In truth, I can't help but feel that I am somewhat at fault."

She blinked.

"I mean, had I not been there…well, things may have turned out differently."

" _Yes, my life would not be over,_ " she thought bitterly.

"So, in an effort to make amends, I offer myself as a teacher to you."

Louise, about to tell the man exactly where he could shove his pity, froze. " _…What?"_

She stayed rooted in place for about a minute. Slowly, she lifted her head, scrutinizing the man before her. He was old, she observed, perhaps as old as the Headmaster, and his wrinkly face set into a wide smile, eyes full of some…positive emotion.

Eventually, she scoffed, "It's…you don't need to take responsibility for anything, Monsieur. It is," she gulped, "my own fault."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I," she choked up a bit, "I am failure of a mage." She hated this, hated the truth, but she could deny it no longer, "I am a…Zero."

"Nonsense!" he emphasized the shout by pounding his staff—which Louise hadn't even noticed—onto the floor, "Would a 'Zero', as you call it, be able to summon a dragon—and man—through a magic portal?"

She scowled, looking down at her feet.

"Furthermore," Johan grabbed her chin, forcibly tilting her head up. She sucked in a breath, startled by the different, harsher gleam in his eyes, "I have been alive for many a year, experienced many things. And I can confidently say that I recognize talent when I see it."

Louise stepped back, "You, Monsieur, are delusional."

Johan merely smirked, resting his staff on his shoulder, "Delusional, huh? Tell me," he leaned forward, "If someone with no magical power were to attempt a spell, what would happen?"

Louise thought back on the history lessons of mad Commoners trying to cast spells they'd observed their master's perform. She pursed her lips, "Nothing…nothing would happen. The spell would fail."

Johan hummed, "And tell me,  ** _mah lahzey_** ," her eyes twitched at the foreign words, "What happens when you," he pointed his staff at her chest, "cast a spell?"

"I-It fails."

Johan scowled, roughly poking her shoulder with the tip of his staff, "Specifically."

Louise cried out, rubbing her shoulder, "How dare—"

"Answer the question," he said, glaring down at her.

There was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine; it reminded her of her mother, to be honest.

Louise gulped, "I-I-I I cause explosions", she eventually stammered out.

Johan's dark mood immediately dispelled, a wide smile and twinkling eyes replacing it, "Now tell me, does that sound like something someone with no potential could do?"

"No," Louise admitted.

"Therefore…" he trailed off, gesturing for her to finish the thought.

"Therefore," Louise froze, "I have…the capacity to perform magic."

Johan leaned back, resting both hands on his staff, "There we are," he said under his breath.

Louise bit back a laugh; it seemed so simple in hindsight. "S-So what? Every spell I perform still fails! No one can help me with that."

"Correction, no one  _has_."

Louise didn't understand the distinction.

Johan frowned, "Frankly speaking, mah lahzey," that same phrase, she hoped it wasn't an insult, "the fact that you have floundered about as long as you have paints this academy's faculty in a very negative light."

Louise's nostrils flared, "The professors of the Tristain Academy of Magic are among the most talented mages in their fields!"

"And yet, none of them have offered you any assistance."

Louise's cheeks heated up, "They all gave up after getting caught in my explosions."

"Well, that's even worse," Johan's voice took on an even darker tone than before. "For a teacher to give up on a student," he growled lowly, and suddenly Louise was reminded of the dragon that crushed her dreams.

He then shook his head, staring down at her, "Regardless," his voice returned to its previous timbre "Louise, you have my word that, should you accept my offer, I will not rest until you can call yourself a mage."

Louise wanted to scoff, to call this man a loon and slam the door in his face. But, there was something in his eyes, in his voice, that made her believe that he was speaking the truth. That he truly would devote all his time and energy into turning her into a mage.

She licked her lips, "Why? Why offer to help me? It cannot simply be because you feel some strange sense of responsibility for an action you, truthfully speaking, had no control over?"

Johan hummed, rubbing his beard, "Well, in truth, I am very far from home, and am in the middle of drafting a safe passage there. Honestly, helping you is just something to pass the time."

Louise didn't know if she should be insulted by his blunt answer, or thankful that he wanted to spend the time helping her.

"Also, I used to be a teacher myself, for a time, at least."

Louise stared at this foreign hermit before her, "Truly?"

Johan chuckled, "Yes, before I sequestered myself in the mountains I taught a number of people a wide variety of skills, magic chief among them. And, honestly," he pointed his staff at her, "you are not even among the top five of my 'Most Hopeless Students' list."

The idea that there were people out there worse than her lifted Louise's spirits more than she'd like to admit.

"I suppose you could also call it a matter of pride. The chance to prove these fools wrong by teaching the unteachable?" His smile shifted, becoming a tad darker, "Why, that's too grand an opportunity to pass up."

Louise suppressed a sigh; she knew no one could be that altruistic. But, to be fair, who didn't like the opportunity to show another person up? She'd certainly dreamed of it long enough.

He sighed, catching Louise's attention once more, "However, there is one thing you should know before you accept—if you will, that is."

Louise frowned, "What?"

"The dragon that you summoned, the one that ran away." Louise's brow furrowed slightly, "His name is Odahviing, and I'm going to take you to him."

Louise briefly wondered why a wild beast had a name, before focusing on the last part of the sentence.

She stepped back, eyes widening in shock, "W-What! Why?"

Johan hummed, "You are being expelled because you…allowed,"  
Louise could have sworn he smirked at her, "Odahviing to flee. Therefore, I can see no final lesson plan more fitting than beating him down and subjugating him to your will."

Louise stared wide-eyed at the foreigner before her. "Insane," she muttered, "You're actually insane."

Johan smirked, "Just, think about. I'm not leaving until ten."

Louise nodded absent-mindedly.

Johan grunted, "Then, I await your answer. And know, even if you decline, I wish you the best in life."

He left after that, leaving Louise to ponder her choices.

**Line Break**

Beatrice frowned at the sign tied to the Library doors. 'Closed,' it read. Very curious.

_CLACK CLACK CLACK_

She turned at the sound, frowning at the sight of an elderly Commoner, carrying a mop and bucket, hobbling her way.

"You!" she called out, pointing at the man, "Come here!"

The man nodded, continuing at the same pace.

Beatrice grit her teeth, "Now!" she commanded.

The man shambled faster, stopping just a few feet in front of her, water sloshing dangerously close to her shoes.

Beatrice stepped back, hissing, "Watch it, you oaf!"

The man's eyes widened, and he bowed his head, "Apologies, Mademoiselle."

Beatrice scoffed, "Whatever." She jerked her head at the sign, "What it the meaning of this?"

The Commoner frowned, slowly turning his head towards the sign. Then, a moment of clarity—which Beatrice didn't think possible for a man like him. "Ah, yes," he coughed into his hands, "Just this morning a professor found evidence of students…having relations, within the library."

At that, Beatrice rolled her eyes—either Guiche or Kirche. She turned on her heel with a huff, "Very well. Just get it clean, oaf. I've items things I must get done by the day's end."

She pinched the bridge of her nose; now what was she supposed to do? A cruel smirk wormed its way onto her face—Tiffania should still be in her room at this time.

Johan sniffed as the young brat walked away, "Rude little thing," he muttered.

He reached into the uneven pocket of the clothes he'd appropriated, pulling out a ring of keys that he'd also appropriated.

He quickly entered the library, dropping the mop and bucket haphazardly, locking the door behind him.

He heaved a great sigh as he took in the sight of the dozens of bookshelves, each one filled to the brim with books.

" ** _LAAS YAH NIR,_** " he harshly whispered, grunting when nothing came into view.

Gathering up magicka, he aimed a few feet in front of him, a portal to Oblivion opening up after a moment.

A Dremora stepped through the portal; but unlike its brethren, this was not a beast of death and destruction. No, this Dremora wore mortal clothes, and had a much softer voice than most of its kin.

It sniffed the air, scrunching its face, "Where have you summoned me?"

Johan sighed heavily, "You don't know either, huh?"

"Well, I can certainly say this isn't a realm of Oblivion," it idly muttered.

He clicked his tongue, "I already knew that," he shook his head, "Regardless, I'm putting these books into storage."

The Dremora turned, eyeing the bookcases, "…Let me guess, all of them?"

Johan chuckled, walking past it, "You know me so well."

"I've only been bound to you for the better part of a century," it replied, bringing its hands together and forming a purple orb between them.

"While you're at it," Johan said, turning away from the rune he was drawing on the wall, "Set up the Quill of Gemination; I want two copies of every book."

"I live to serve," it sighed, quickly drawing its hands back, the orb expanding until it was triple the Dremora's size. Soon enough, the bookcases were surrounded by a purple glow, and slowly rose up and entered the portal, one-by-one.

**Line Break**

Johan hummed as he drew in the last bit of script for the rune on a wall directly outside the library. He nodded when he finished, waving his hand and making it disappear.

With that done, he walked towards the Academy gate, eyeing the various students milling about with their familiars.

There was such a wide variety to them. Some were ordinary; cats, dogs, birds. Other were far more fantastical; floating eyeballs, giant moles, giant lizards.

_KREEAH_

Johan jerked his head up, narrowing his eyes at the four-legged, light-blue dragon flying in the sky, a student riding on its back.

He suppressed the urge to growl; a dragon freely allowing a child to ride it, what utter nonsense! To make things worse, the dragon—according to servants' gossip—was only just summoned yesterday by the student, meaning that not even a day later it was following orders of some prepubescent brat. Cleary, this mockery of Dovah lacked self-respect!

He then blinked and shook his head, "When I get back, I'm going to spend some time away from dovah," he muttered.

He'd made it to the gate just a bit before ten. There was a large carriage—which, like the rest of the Academy, was looked fairly ornate—with but no one other than the horses in sight.

He gazed up towards the sun, the symbol of Auri-El, his father's elven aspect. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath, "Akatosh, Shor, Talos, Kyne," he murmured reverently, "Grant me an easy journey through this strange land. If not, "he licked his lips, "Then I ask that Nocturnal keep the shadows strong, and that Sithis guide my blade."

He stayed there, silently praying to the Divines and Daedra who's favor he had, that were willing to give it, and (most importantly) that he wanted.

"Right this way, Mademoiselle," someone—a man—said after a time.

Johan cracked his eyes open, grunting as Louise came into view, along with a couple servant's carrying multiple suitcases and placing them on the carriage.

The young girl, however, ignored the carriage, stopping just in front of Johan.

She stared up at him, fire in her eyes, "…You swear that you can teach me how to use magic?"

Johan smiled, softly, "My dear, I stake my very soul on it."

Louise nodded resolutely, "Very well. I accept your offer."

Johan hummed, smile widening slightly, "All right then. First, is there a town nearby?"

Louise frowned, "Yes, an hour or two south of here."

"Excellent, that's our first stop."

"Why?"

Johan chuckled lightly, "Mah fahzey, the only thing I had on me when your portal sucked me through are the clothes on my back, staff, and what little odds and ends I have in-between. I need supplies." A small lie;  _he_  didn't needsupplies—he had an entire dimension full of various items he'd collected over the years. But he doubted that the young girl before him would be able to use any of it comfortably.

Louise blushed lightly, "O-Oh. Of course. I'll inform the driver."

Johan nodded, walking for the carriage, holding the door open for Louise to get in after she'd informed the driver of their destination.

Once more, a smile wormed its way onto his face; things were going to go well, he could tell.

**Line Break**

Osmond sighed as he leaned back, basking in the breeze that carried through his window. Rare were the moments that he could just relax; it was why he always looked forward to the customary day-off the academy took in honor of the newly formed student-familiar bonds.

Just then, Chuchu squeaked rapidly.

He looked down, cocking a brow at his familiar's rapid gestures. He looked down, and a toothy smile erupted on his face.

Just below him, a pair of maids were unfortunate enough to fall into a fountain; ah, how he loved this place!

_KRABOOOM_

An explosion rocked the Academy.

Osmond flailed his arms and legs, steadying himself. After a moment, he chuckled, one could always count on Mademoiselle Vallière to liven up the day.

It took another moment for him to realize that the young woman had just been expelled from the Academy, and had in fact, left a couple of hours ago.

Immediately, he grabbed his wand, all but shouting the incantation for flight, and leapt out his window. He followed a large pillar of smoke, noting that it came from the library.

He landed, pleased to see Professor Colbert and Mademoiselle Longueville already at the scene. "What happened?" he asked sternly.

Colbert turned quickly, his past military training easily showing, "Headmaster, it's…it's gone."

"What, Jean?"

He faltered, "The library. The books, they're all gone."

The color drained from Osmond's face, "I…I'm sorry?" he stammered, daring to believe that he'd heard wrong.

"It's true headmaster," Longueville gulped audibly, "E-Every book—all the bookcases, even—are gone!"

Osmond shook his head incredulously, "Who could have done this?"

"It had to have been Fouquet," Colbert immediately stated.

But Longueville shook her head, "Respectfully, Monsieur, I doubt it. Fouquet…steals high profile items, like," an odd look passed over her face, "like the items stored in the vault. This is most likely some idiotic prank pulled by some students. After all," she shrugged, "what's worth stealing from the library?"

Colbert nodded along with her reasoning, but Osmond could do naught but shake his head, "I'm afraid you are wrong, Mademoiselle, so, so very wrong."

"Headmaster?" the two asked hesitantly.

But Osmond run forward, waving his wand to dispel the smoke. When he entered the empty room, he flourished his wand, chanting a spell to dispel any illusion within.

But nothing changed.

"Headmaster Osmond," Colbert said, slowly walking forward, "What's wrong?"

"I…I…I need to contact the palace," Osmond finally said, despair heavy in his voice.

**A/N: So, our heroes officially start their journey with a (delayed) bang. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**

**Translation:**

**-MAH LAHZEY: Little Mage**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Dealings

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

In hindsight, Louise considered, she really should have tempered her expectations. Somehow, she'd gotten it into her head that she'd be learning fantastical new abilities and spell-craft from the first moment. But instead, Johan, her new, impromptu 'instructor', contented himself with staring out the carriage window, watching the woods pass them by.

A brief, dark thought entered her head; that she'd been duped into giving an old man a free ride. But then she recalled the conviction in his eyes as he repeatedly asserted that he could teach, as well as the fact that he shot a fireball at that dragon's face. You didn't do that unless you had equal parts power and confidence.

"Tell me, mah lahzey, what does it mean, to be a mage?"

Louise jolted at his voice. She focused on him, but he was still looking out the window. "What does that mean?" she blurted out.

He cocked a brow, shifting his eyes but otherwise staying still, "What does what mean?"

"That phrase, mal hazy. You keep calling me that." She crossed her arms, "I'd like to know if I should be offended or not."

Johan smirked, " _Mah lahzey_ ," he repeated slowly, giving Louise a chance to mumble the words beneath her breath, "translates to 'little mage'."

Louise scowled at that, which caused him to laugh heartily, "Well, you can't say it isn't true."

"I refuse to answer to that," Louise spat out.

"Suit yourself," his smile slowly disappeared, "but back to my question."

Ah yes, what it meant to be a mage.

Louise straightened in her seat, clearing her throat, "Nobles are the descendants of the Founder, Brimir," she recited from memory, "As such, we are obligated to learn and cultivate our gift so that we might prove His faith in us to be true."

She smiled to herself, she'd always had a hard time with that as a child.

"Religious tradition, that's why you wish to learn magic?"

Her smile fell at his dismissive tone, turning into a scowl, "Serving the Founder is the best way one can live life," she said heatedly.

"Then why don't you become a priestess in his honor?"

Louise seethed, Éléonore had said the very same thing more than once in their youth.

Johan shook his head, "We won't get anywhere if you can't answer the question."

"But I did!" Louise shouted.

"No," Johan replied with just as much force, but far less volume. "You told me why 'nobles' study magic. I asked why you, Louise, study magic."

Louise scoffed, "What difference does that make?"

Johan levelled her a blank stare, "If you can't figure that out you're either dumber than I thought or allowing anger to cloud your mind."

Louise sneered at the insult, but before she could retort, their driver informed them that they were nearing the town.

**Line Break**

Johan cracked his neck as he stepped out the carriage, his fuming charge trailing behind him.

Founder Brimir, he recalled her saying. Obviously, a deity of these lands; similar to Julianos based on context alone. But there was something else to him; something that Louise hadn't directly touched. Something to do with 'nobles'. But what?

Hopefully one of the books he'd appropriated would hold the answer.

He turned his gaze to the town, narrowing his eyes. He grunted, pointing his staff forward. "Wait for me at the armorer's," he stated.

"Why?" his still irate pupil asked.

"It's a central location, close to the road."

He heard her huff, but she stalked forward nonetheless.

As she left, he turned to the carriage driver, reaching into his pocket, "Where were you originally heading?"

The driver arched his back, groaning lightly, "Her family's estate. A few more hours down the road."

Johan nodded, "Let me just grab a few things from the carriage; you can take the rest back." He walked forward, dropping a few of this land's coin into the man's hands.

He eyed the small stack appreciatively, "Will do, Sir!"

Johan grunted, easily picking open the first of Louise's luggage. He frowned, reaching down and pulling out a corked bottle. Opening it up, he sniffed, "Hmm, decent scent." He rummaged through the bag some more, finding a plethora of pleasantly smelling, but ultimately frivolous items. Good for someone living in a castle, not so good for travelling through woods.

He searched the next case, eliciting a pleased grunt as he saw the multiple books, sheets of paper, and scrolls—the books, upon further inspection, filled with her own notes in the margins. He smiled, closing the book—he knew he made a good choice.

The third bag he'd opened held what he'd been looking for—clothes. But he was disappointed that they were all high-class finery—even the undergarments.

The other bags held miscellaneous items that would only slow them down. Though, he did pause at a small portrait of a young woman with long pink hair similar to Louise's—regardless if they were family or just close friends, he admired the fact that the two were close enough to dye their hair the same color.

Thus, he picked out two suitcases, rearranging them so that they only held her own personal notes and writing supplies and the hardiest clothes—though he did pack a few of the cleaning supplies, as well as the photo.

After that, he put the rest of the luggage pack, and smacked his hand against the carriage, "On your way, good sir."

The driver nodded, a smile on his face, "You have a pleasant journey."

Johan nodded in reply, waving as the carriage rode off.

Taking a moment to make sure no one was nearby, he flicked his wrist, and the two suitcases disappeared into his own pocket dimension, along with his staff.

He returned his gaze to the town, a predatory grin on his face. Now, for an old pastime; bartering.

**Line Break**

"Thank you for the cart, and good luck with the baby," Johan called out over his shoulder, waving goodbye to the merchant and his heavily pregnant wife.

He spared a glance at his new cart; it'd be a good way to build up Louise's muscle—she's thinner than a twig! He then frowned, pushing the idea aside since, along with her bony body, she was also incredibly small—she wouldn't be able to comfortably hold the thing. "Oh well," he shrugged, "I'll figure something out."

He continued on his way, outwardly stone-faced, but inwardly singing in joy. He'd spent too long away from civilization, with only dragons and monks to keep him company. Sure, he'd learnt quite a lot—both in terms of the Thu'um and the early history of Nirn—and there was no want for conversation, but there was just something about walking through town with a haul of goods, legitimately purchased or otherwise.

"Oi, there you are, you degenerate imbecile!"

Johan frowned, he'd been hoping to put this aspect of civilization off for a while.

He turned towards the commotion, puzzled at the sight before him.

There, just on the other side of the road, were four men. Two of them looked like hired soldiers, one was dressed in a very dirty set of working clothes, and the last was dressed in more finery than the emperor of Tamriel himself.

The well-dressed man jabbed a finger towards the worker, "You're late on your taxes!" he said.

The worker wrung his hands together, "But Sir Leir, I paid them! I gave them to your man right here!" he pointed to the soldier on the left—the taller of the pair.

The soldier in question sneered, "Sorry, friend, but I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about." This set the worker on a small speech on exactly when and where he paid the man.

Johan saw this for what it was; a shakedown to fill an already fat coin purse, he'd seen it more than once before he sequestered himself atop the Throat of the World. But there were a couple things of note about this one in particular. For one, there was true desperation in the worker's voice, so this little scam was new. Two, no one was doing anything to stop this.

Granted, he had no idea who this Leir was, he could have been this town's Maven Black-Briar equivalent—though he doubted that. But even if this was a powerful figure, he expected some righteous folk to at least look on in anger. Yet no one did. If anything, they hurried along, an air of defeat permeating the area.

"Well, since you don't have coin, I suppose I'll just have to take that daughter of yours."

…What?

"N-No, please, not her."

Leir clasped his hands beneath his back, a sleazy smile forming on his face, "Yes, I'm in need of a new maid."

"Y-You can't have her!" the worker snarled in fury and shoved the man down. Johan smirked at the display and reached into his pocket to pull out some coins for betting. The next moment made him pause, however.

The worker froze, arms still outstretched, eyes wide with fear. Leir shook his head, red in the face and glaring at the worker with a vengeance, "What are you idiots waiting for, seize him!"

At the command, the two soldiers reached for the worker, each one grabbing him by an arm. The man struggled, crying desperately to be free, but to no avail. By then, Leir had gotten back up, face set in a snarl, "I think we need to work on your manners," he growled.

The man's struggles reached a fever pitch, but all it got him was a fist to his nose. From there, the two soldiers dragged the man kicking and screaming into a nearby alley, Leir following with a downright giddy step.

Johan sighed, dropping his cart and rolling his shoulders. With a quick flick of the wrist, his cart vanished from view, and he quickly strode forward, following the quartet.

He heard blows landing against a body, and a peek around a corner revealed the worker, backed up against a wall, the two soldiers whaling on him while Leir twirled a wand in the air. Johan could see that he was talking but couldn't hear anything over the worker's pained cries.

Not that it mattered, he mused darkly as he summoned a Bound Bow, he'd heard all he needed. He could tolerate a shitty scam, but sexual extortion? The thought alone made his blood boil. He knocked an ethereal, purple arrow, two more held in his hands; he remembered the last time some greedy fools tried to set up a sex-slave ring in his territory—which, in his heyday, encompassed all of Skyrim and Solstheim—he always saved black soul gems for those wonderful occasions.

By the time he'd readied his first shot, the soldiers had dropped the worker, and Leir was pointing his wand at the bleeding man, a red glow emanating from the tip. He started speaking again—either a spell or more caustic words, Johan couldn't tell. Not that it mattered, since not a second after an arrow tore through his throat.

In the time it took for the corpse to crash to the ground, he'd sunk his second arrow into the taller soldier's head. His third shot, unfortunately, missed its mark, lodging into the man's shoulder. Not that it mattered all that much, considering the bolt of lightning that blasted his against the wall, vaporizing him.

Johan sighed, "I'm out of shape," he said beneath his breath, dispelling his bow and walking towards the cowering worker.

The man peeked his head out from his fetal position, quickly ducking back down when Johan stopped in front of him. With a click of his tongue, Johan held his hands out, streams of golden light flowing from his palm to the man, healing his wounds.

The man stayed on the ground for another moment, only looking up when (Johan assumed) he figured out he wasn't in pain anymore. He stared at Johan with wide eyes, "W-What have you done?"

Johan snorted, kicking Leir's corpse, "Isn't it obvious."

The man didn't respond, instead staring at Leir's corpse, face going pale.

Johan rolled his neck, "Regardless, I shall handle the clean-up, you go on to your family."

"W-What have you done?" the man said hysterically. He repeated those four words—complete with the stutter—in a maddening mantra. Idly, Johan wondered if Sheogorath would be proud.

But he didn't have time to talk things over with the man. So, summoning an orb of pale green energy into his hand, he cast a calming spell on him.

At once, his entire being relaxed, and he rose to his feet.

Johan repeated his previous statement, and this time was met with a nod and a smile. The smile disappeared when the man returned his gaze to the corpses at his feet, "What about—"

Johan cut him off with a wave of his hands, "Like I said, I'll take care of it." He frowned, "Though, if,  _if_ , someone does come by and ask questions, just tell them that last you saw them, you handed them your latest fee."

The man's smile returned, and with a quick wave, he left the alley.

Johan turned his attention to his kills, stroking his beard in thought. He then snapped his fingers, and idea coming to mind.

A quick  ** _FUS_**  blew away the remains of the one soldier, and a couple thrall spells rose the other and Leir from the dead.

He held his hands out, "Coin purses," he commanded. At once, the pair gave him all their money. Tucking it away, he said, "Head east, down the main road. After about a mile, you," he pointed to the soldier, "stab him," he pointed to Leir, "a lot. Make sure to cut off his head where the arrow wound is. After that, run as far as you can to the South."

The soldier groaned lowly.

Johan grunted, casting a time-release spell on the soldier. "And don't talk to anyone on your way."

The two thralls groaned and went on to dispose of themselves.

**Line Break**

Louise scowled as Johan came into view, "You're late!" she cried.

The foreigner smirked, "I don't recall giving you a timeframe?"

She felt her cheeks heat up, "R-Regardless, it is most uncouth to leave a Noble such a myself waiting outside such an," she eyes her surroundings, "establishment."

Johan snorted, further infuriating Louise, and gestured to the building, "You could have waited inside."

Louise stepped back, scandalized. Why would she dare enter the building? She had no need of Commoner arms. Before she could voice such thought, Johan pushed past her, entering the shop.

Fuming, she followed him inside.

"Hello! Welcome to my shop!" a skinny Commoner with a noticeable hunch and wide-brimmed glasses said from behind the counter.

Louise immediately schooled her features into a less displeased look; 'you must never show a Commoner the depth of your emotions;, she'd heard countless times.

Johan nodded at the man, "Hello. I'm going to need to look at your hunting supplies—daggers, bows, arrows, that sort of thing."

The Commoner nodded, gesturing to his left, "I've got a wide assortment of daggers here, and bows are along the wall. Let me get some arrows from the back." That said, he left further into the building.

Johan walked forward, grabbing a dagger and examining it.

Once she was sure the Commoner was out of sight, Louise stomped forward, harshly tugging on Johan's sleeve, "What in Brimir's name are you doing?"

"Checking out daggers," he said flippantly.

Louise scoffed, "Obviously. But why?"

Johan paused, letting out a brief bark of laughter. He then looked down, blinking, "Oh, you're serious?" He sniffed, "How else are we to defend ourselves?"

Louise stared disbelievingly at him, "Are you daft? We have magic! Why would we—!" her next words died in her throat as something sharp pressed against her throat. She paled, slowly gazing down, trembling at the dagger held at her throat—she hadn't even seen him move!

"Never," there was a low growl in his voice, "underestimate the utility of a dagger." He drew the blade back, allowing Louise to breath, "I've seen far too many a mage fall because they didn't have a back-up when their magic failed them." He returned his gaze—stony and cold—to her, "You are especially at risk, considering your reliance upon a stick," he said, lifting his other hand, holding her wand between his index and middle finger.

Subconsciously, Louise slapped both arms to her left hip, eyes, if at all possible, growing wider.

His cold visage melted away after that, a keen smugness overtaking it. He flicked his left hand forward, tossing her wand—which she caught in shaky hands. He then flicked his right hand, tossing the dagger in the air, catching the flat of the blade in his palm. He extended his arm, holding the hilt towards her. Gulping down her anxiety, she grabbed the weapon, gingerly holding it in right hand.

Johan groaned, crouching down and grabbing her wrist, "Like  _this_!" he said, moving her fingers so that she held it properly. He grunted, "Comfortable?"

Louise nodded numbly.

By then, the Commoner had returned from the back, "Sorry about the wait," he said, holding a large number of arrows in his arms, "Some of the arrowheads looked a bit shoddy, wanted to find some better ones for you."

"Oh!" Johan stood, a grateful smile on his face, "Thank you!" He grabbed a couple arrows, balancing them on his fingers. He nodded, placing them down and moving for the bows along the wall. He stopped in front of a barrel full of weapons, however. He looked over his shoulder, "What's this?"

The Commoner leaned forward, adjusting his glasses, "Ah, those. Got them from some traders a week or two back. They're older pieces, but if you're interested…" he trailed off.

Johan returned to the barrel, slowly stroking his beard. After a moment, he reached inside, pulling out a long, single-edged blade, covered from the hilt up in a deep layer of brown rust.

"That one?" Louise unintentionally blurt out. When Johan turned around, cocking a brow at her, she blushed, but stood her ground, "I mean, there are so many better things here!"

Johan's eyes crinkled in what she assumed was amusement, "Oh, you have so much to learn, mah lahzey."

Louise twitched at the phrase, but Johan returned to his original task. He pulled a curved, wooden bow form the wall—very small compared to him, she noted. It wasn't until he was in front of her that she realized this was another Commoner weapon meant for her.

He held the bow out, then frowned, pulling it back. He turned, facing the counter, and shifted his hands until his left hand held the bow, and his right was resting on the string. "Hold it like this," he then held it out for her to grab.

She did so, praying to Brimir that this day never reached her family's ears. After she mimicked his pose, he asked her if she was comfortable with its weight. She wanted to shout that she wasn't, that she wasn't meant to sully her hands with such an item; but then she remembered the dagger he easily leveled against her throat and answered honestly.

"It's…alright."

Johan nodded, "Now, pull on the bowstring."

She begrudgingly did so, grunting as it resisted. But she wouldn't let that stop her; beneath her it may be, she would not allow some Commoner tool to best her. Thus, with a grunt of effort she as hard as she could, only stopping at Johan's command.

He pointed to the bow, "Observe this shape; memorize it. This is the bow's maximum draw distance, anymore and you'll liable to break the string.

Louise nodded, huffing slightly to keep her arms from trembling.

Johan smiled softly, "You can release the string now."

She readily did so; which ended up being a mistake, for as soon as she let go, the string slapped against her arm with a mighty  _CRACK_. Louise cried out, dropping the bow and clutching her arm, refusing to shed tears.

At once, Johan crouched down beside her, groaning lightly, "Not all at once!" he exclaimed.

Louise shot him a seething glare.

Johan held up a hand, "Drem, er, peace," he said, "The fault lies with me. It's obvious you've never held a bow before, I should have told you how to properly release it." He clicked his tongue, "Now, let me see your arm."

With a huff, Louise held her injured arm out, hissing as he pulled back her sleeve to get a better look at her wound. She cringed at the, recognizing the beginnings of an angry red welt— Éléonore a number of such wounds on particularly idiotic servants.

Johan tutted, "Oh, this won't do at all." He hummed a wordless tune, and then came something more shocking than anything Louise had ever seen in her entire life.

Johan's hand, previously hovering just over her wound, glowed white. She was sure her jaw dropped, and then dropped further as tendrils of…energy flowed from his hand to her arm; and what followed was not what she would all particularly soothing, but pleasant nonetheless, as the mark quickly disappeared, leaving her arm as pristine as it was mere moments ago.

Johan stood, dusting his hands, leaving Louise gaping at her arm, then him, then back to her arm. Eventually, she closed her mouth, asking, "W-W-What was that?"

"Magic," Johan said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Before she could further question this newfound enigma, Johan returned to the counter. "Okay then…I'll take these daggers," he placed four daggers on the counter, "these bows," he placed three bows on the counter, "all those arrows, and," he placed the rusted blade on the counter, "this blade. Along with…five pieces of leather, and a polishing kit."

The Commoner hummed rubbing his chin in thought, "Well, that's all going to come together to about twelve hundred Écu. But, in honor of this bulk purchase—as well as the spectacular lightshow—I'll cut the price of the arrows in half, and toss in a leather bracer for the girl, some quivers for the two of you, a sheath for the blade, and the polishing kit for free. So, in the end that'll be," he bobbed his head in the air, "nine hundred Écu."

Johan nodded, reaching into his cloak and—startlingly quickly—counting out the necessary coin, along with about fifty extra, 'for the trouble it took to grab the arrows,' he'd said.

The Commoner scooped up the coins, readily thanking Johan, before frowning, "Give me a second, I'll grab some baskets to help you take these outside."

But Johan declined, waving his hand and—in another display of impossible magic—summoned a cart, already filled with various items.

The Commoner, ignorant of the impossibility of what had just occurred, whistled, "Now that's a handy bit of magic."

Johan agreed, and helped load the items onto the cart. After that was done, he waved his hand over the cart, and it vanished from view. Were she in a better mood, she might have laughed at the sight of the Commoner hesitantly poking the space where the cart previously was. Instead, she quickly followed Johan outside, where she was met with another shocking piece of information.

"Where's the carriage?"

"Hm? Oh," Johan cleared his throat, "I sent it on ahead to your home, along with the majority of your luggage."

"W-What? Why?" Louise spluttered.

"Mah lahzey," Johan began, "We're chasing after a dragon. Do you know where they live?" Before Louise could answer—mountains, obviously—he continued, "I'll tell you where they don't, villages and towns. And frankly, you had way too many useless items."

At that, anger boiled up in Louise, and she exclaimed, "And who are you to judge what is and is not useless to me?!"

Johan cocked a brow, "A mage many decades your senior that lived with dragons for a fair chunk of those decades."

Louise faltered at that, somehow knowing that he spoke the truth. She then stared down at her feet, dejected at the loss of her items.

Johan sighed, "Keep in mind, I didn't just send everything of yours away. I kept the majority of your clothes—not the dresses, though—some of your fancy smelling lotions, and all your notes," he hummed, looking down at her with what she thought was approval. "Along with that framed portrait of the pink-haired woman. Who is she, by the way?"

Despite everything, Louise smiled, "My sister, Cattleya."

Johan smiled, "Well, she seems like a lovely young woman."

Louise allowed her mind to drift to happier times, "She is…" But then the present came barreling through, and she pointed an accusatory finger at Johan, "Wait, what was that thing you did in the shop, with your hands!"

Johan raised his eyebrows quizzically, "I told you, magic."

"But that's impossible, magic can't be cast without a wand!"

Johan smirked devilishly, raising his hands, "Can't it?" Within seconds a flame flickered to life in his right hand. In his left, a series of green, transparent cubes formed and floated above his palms.

Tentatively, breath caught in her throat, Louise stepped forward, "H-How?"

Johan laughed, closing his hands and cutting off the lightshow, "That's a complicated question."

Louise licked her lips. Her skill with a wand was abysmal, but this…she stared up at her teacher, "Can…can you teach me how to do that?"

He smiled, "Mah lahzey," he said fondly, "why else are we here?"

**Line Break**

Cattleya idly pet Cher—an orange tabby she'd found near the edge of the estate—as she looked through her letters. Admittedly, there were not many—especially since her sickly disposition reached the ears of every young male heir that lived within Tristain—but she still had a number of friends from her academy days, to say nothing her darling Louise.

Ah, speak of the devil, a letter from her sister.

She frowned as she observed the letter, there were tiny dry splotches all over it. Her heart ached—she'd hoped these days were behind them. Nonetheless, she reached for her letter opener.

"WHAT!"

Her mother's sudden roar made her jump, dropping the letter and opener. At once, she bolted out her room, almost running into an equally distressed Éléonore. Together, they ran towards the main hall, walking into the sight of their mother yelling at a cowering messenger, a letter crumpled in her iron grip.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry, Duchess, but I can't t-tell you anything," he whimpered, "I w-wasn't told anything, n-nor did I open t-t-t-the letter."

Mother scowled, "Fine!" she spat out, "Get out of my sight!" The messenger quickly scurried away.

Éléonore, always the braver of them, cleared her throat, "Mother, what's the matter?" She paled, "Is it Father?"

Cattleya gasped, she hadn't considered that!

Thankfully, Mother's next words assuaged her fears, "No, this has nothing to do with Centurion." Cattleya let out a relieved sigh, only to quickly suck it back in as Mother said, "it's much worse."

Before either of them could ask what, Mother was already striding off, "I'll tell you on the way to the armory."

Just then, a maid entered the room. "Begging you pardon Duchess—"

Mother cut her off with a glare, "Have you more news from the academy?" The maid shook her head, "Does it involve the Duke of this house?" Another shake, "Does it absolutely require my attention?" There was a brief pause, before the maid shook her head hesitantly. Mother grit her teeth, "Then get it done, and get it done quickly," she growled.

The maid paled, bowing her head and quickly stepping out.

Cattleya stepped forward, "The Academy?" she gasped, "Is Louise alright?"

Mother waved her off, "This has nothing to do with Louise! No, this is much…much more dire."

And then she, along with her sister, gasped. Because a sliver of emotion—other than anger—slipped through their mother's steel visage. Fear.

**A/N: Next up, the first day of camping. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

First Lessons

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Johan hummed, nodding his head, "Yes, this will do," he said.

Louise narrowed her eyes, sneering at the clearing. Sure, it looked…pretty, but camping? She was a Noble, and Nobles do not sleep on the ground like a draft animal.

Her eyes widened, however, when she remembered her mentor's strange magic; specifically, the magic he used to summon a wagon of supplies.

Her lips spread into a smile. It was so obvious, he had a fantastical spell up his sleeve! Perhaps he could form a suitable abode from the surrounding flora? Or he'd simply conjure a cozy dwelling from thin air.

Her smile fell when, with a flick of his wrist, a bundle of cloth, furs, rope, and wooden stakes dropped in front of her.

She stared at the…items at her feet. " _Surely"_ , she let out a breath,  _"he does not expect me to…_ "

"Hmm, I suppose you wouldn't know how to pitch a tent either."

"Of course not!" Louise hissed heatedly.

Johan, in the middle of making his own, rested his chin on his hand, clicking his tongue, "Hmm…very well. I'll help you for the next week. After that, you're on your own."

Louise stepped back, aghast, "You expect me to sleep in this?!"

Johan smirked, amusement lighting his eyes, "Unless you'd rather sleep on the grass, in the open air? Not that that's a bad thing, mind you."

Louise sneered, then caught herself, taking a deep breath, "Rule of Steel," she muttered under her breath, "Rule of Steel."

Her mentor grunted, walking over and grabbing two of the sticks, "So, first, we need to make the frame."

**Line Break**

Johan chuckled as he chewed on some berries, "Glare harder, I think I can see smoke!"

Louise moved her glare, previously on the hammer that she'd slammed on her thumb more times than Johan thought reasonably possible, at him. "I can't believe you made me do that! Such humiliation…"

"I know, another solid whack and that fingernail would have popped clean off!" He guffawed at her queasy expression, sobering as he took notice of the still-full plate and bowl at her side. His smile faded, a stern frown replacing it, "Eat," he commanded, shifting a few logs in the firepit, "You'll need the energy, and I won't have you wasting food."

His pupil scowled—she did that a lot—and stared at her meal. She looked as if it was going to jump up and bite her! Probably used to those fancy meals he'd caught glimpses of at the Academy.

His frown deepened slightly. He'd never trained someone raised in luxury. Stolen from them, beaten them, killed them, but never trained them. He crossed his arms stroking his beard, eyeing the young girl as she dejectedly stirred her stew. This would prove challenging.

A thought occurred to him, "Say, mah lahzey," the girl perked her head up, "How old are you?" He chuckled at her bewildered expression, "Yes, a bit of an oversight on my part. Though I can surmise that you are at least fourteen."

Louise stared at him for a long moment, before shaking her head slightly, coughing into her hands, "I-I am sixteen years old."

Now it was Johan's turn to look bewildered, " _Sixteen_?" he repeated.

His new apprentice flushed, drawing her knees to her chest and muttering that, yes, she was.

Johan grimaced, "My apologies, Louise, it's just…" he chose not to state the obvious. But he did ask, "Do you have any elf in you?"

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, given the speed with which she shot up to her feet, screeching, "What?!"

Johan could not help but jerk back at the outburst. "How dare you even insinuate such a thing?!" she continued, "The Vallière family would never lay with those godless heathens! The very thought alone would prompt any sound minded Noble to check themselves into a healing ward!"

Caught completely flat-footed, all Johan could do was plaster a smile on his face and hold his hands out placatingly, "Easy, easy. It was a jest," he punctuated the sentence with a chuckle.

Louise scowled, "A very poor jest!" she hissed. She sat back down, glaring at her still full plate and bowl. She pushed them away, "I've lost my appetite."

Johan's eyes twitched, but he refrained from speaking on the matter. Instead, he said, "Very well. The night is yours, just know that we will begin your training an hour past dawn."

That brought a small smile to her face. She stood to her feet, said goodnight, and walked off to her tent.

Johan followed her movements, watching as the lamp he'd set up for her bring her shadow to life. When it became evident that she wouldn't exit her tent, he aimed a levitation spell at her left behind supper, pulling it towards him. No sense letting good food go to waste.

He snapped his fingers, a purple portal opening up to his right.

"Yes?" the smooth voice of his bound Dremora drawled.

He gulped down the soup, "Get me all the books on elves, basic spell craft…and religion."

The Dremora grunted, and not a second later three stacks of books flashed into existence.

"Thanks," Johan muttered. He then asked, "How goes the copying?"

"Slowly, but surely," the Dremora replied.

Johan grunted, closing the portal with the flick of his wrist. He turned his attention to the closest stack, grabbing the topmost book. He cocked a brow at the title, 'The Word of our Founder'.

He flipped through it, surmising—based on the thickness and fancy script—that it was a holy text. He clicked his tongue; not what he wanted at the moment. He grabbed the next book, seeing that it was another book based on the 'Founder'.

The next three books proved to be about the same religion.

That gave him pause.

He quickly rifled through the rest of the stack, shocked that they all covered the 'Founder Brimir'. He set the latest book—'The Founder, and How You Can Prove Your Worth to Him'—and drumming his finger against his leg. Forty books covering only one religion? The sheer odds of an entire continent believing in the same interpretation of the same god were astronomical.

He grit his teeth, blood slowly rising to a boil. This reeked of religious genocide.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he reached for the next stack of books. His face fell as he read the title, 'Elves: How to Survive Their Savage Ways'.

He nearly tossed the book into the fire.

**Line Break**

Louise blearily opened her eyes as birds sang overhead. She rubbed them, blinking her tiredness away. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering why it looked saggy.

It was then that she remembered the last few days' events. A bright smile broke out over her face, she was going to learn magic! And not just any magic, but one that didn't require a wand!

She quickly jumped out of bed, walking over to the basin and mirror her mentor had set up for her. Idly, she gazed at her surroundings; this was fairly spacious, for a tent. Smaller than her room at the Academy and lacking a dresser—she'd been forced to place all her clothing in a chest at the foot of her bed. Still there was a small desk, another object her mentor had conjured with a wave of his hand, for her notes and writing materials, and the bed—cot, he'd called it—was surprisingly comfortable. All in all, far better than what she'd expected.

After washing her face, brushing her hair—lamenting the fact that she didn't have a chance to wash it yet—she changed out of her nightgown—it took a bit to find a set of clothes that were presentable. After that, found herself instinctually putting on her wand and holster, only to toss it aside with no small amount of glee. Finally, she grabbed a blank notebook and some writing utensils, and strode outside, a confident smile on her face.

Which quickly fell at her mentor's scowling visage.

"What the hell were you doing?" he asked, standing up from the dead firepit. He'd changed out of his gray robes, instead wearing a loose blue jerkin and a beige pair of trousers (Louise was mildly surprised to see that he had a full head of hair, stopping just above the ears—she blamed it on the fact that two of her…ex-instructors were famously bald).

She frowned, "Getting ready for the day."

"It takes fifty-three minutes to put on a shirt and skirt?"

Louise blinked, "How can you possibly know that?"

At that, a smirk ghosted on Johan's lips, "I come from a long-line of timekeepers." His scowl then returned full force, "Don't change the subject."

Louise scoffed, flipping her hair back, "It took time to find presentable clothes."

Johan cocked a brow, "Did you drop them all in mud?"

"Of course not!" she heatedly replied.

"Then what took so long?"

"They were all," her nose crinkled in distaste, "wrinkly."

"…Sky above, you're serious."

Her temper flared, "A Noble must always strive to present themselves as best as they possibly can."

"At the expense of common sense!" Johan sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Regardless, that could not have taken that long," he eyed her with a critical gaze, "Your hair…" he trailed off.

Louise brought a hand up to stroke her pink locks, "What of it?"

Johan narrowed his eyes, "…You need to cut it."

Louise stepped back, as if struck, "Come again!"

"You need to cut your hair," Johan repeated.

Louise let out a breath, "I-I most certainly will not! I don't care if it 'wastes time' as you seem to believe!"

"It's not that," Johan stated, crossing his arms. "Hair that long is a liability in the wilderness."

Louise's scowl deepened, "I'll be the judge of that!"

Johan's eye twitched, "…Fine. Do what you want with it, I don't care. What I do care about is whether or not you waste my time." His eyes narrowed, "I'll give you a week to get yourself up in a timely manner. After that…" he trailed off with a smirk that sent shivers down her spine.

Suddenly, he clapped his hands, "Now, magic."

"Finally," Louise muttered under her breath.

Johan turned around, gesturing for her to follow, but paused soon after, "Hold on, where's your wand?"

Louise blinked, "Oh, well I didn't think I'd need it, considering…"

Johan smiled softly, "Mah lahzey, I said I'd teach you magic. That includes wands." He waved her off, "Go and get it, I'll be here."

Oh, oh no. No, this couldn't be happening! Louise felt herself beginning to hyperventilate as she neared her tent. She couldn't let him see her fail, she couldn't! If he saw that, there was no way he'd keep her on!

She found her wand beneath her desk. She was tempted to break it, in the vain hope that Johan would accept the loss and skip ahead to wandless magic. But then she considered the fact that, if he could conjure tent and the necessary amenities out of thin air, he could repair, if not replace, her wand.

Thus, she schooled her features, attached her wand holster and wand to her hip, and returned to Johan.

In the time since she'd been gone, he conjured a table, a line of pebbles along it.

Louise's heart filled with dread.

Johan, either unaware or uncaring of her feelings, gestured to one of the pebbles. "Transmute this stone into…iron."

Louise gulped, nodding slowly. She focused on her Willpower, licking her lips as she held her wand in both hands, aiming at the leftmost pebble.

She took a deep breath and muttered the incantation for transmutation. The pebble glowed, and Johan hummed appreciatively, leaning in closer. Before Louise could warn him away, the pebble exploded, rocking the table and knocking the rest of the stones onto the floor.

Louise averted her gaze, fear gripping her heart as the smoke from her failure dissipated.

When she finally looked back up, she was shocked by what she saw. Not only was her mentor still standing, he didn't glare at her in anger. He wasn't even looking at her, actually. He was running his hands along the table, mumbling something into his beard.

He shot his hand to the side, it glowed orange, and multiple pebbles floated upwards. He flicked his wrist forward, and they all dropped on the table. He jerked his head, leaning back, "Do that again," he commanded.

Louise took a deep breath. Once more, she said the incantation for transmutation, and once more, it ended in failure.

Johan grunted, stepping away from the table. He pointed at a tree behind him, "Aim a spell at that tree. Fireball, wind blade, whatever."

Louise nodded hesitantly. She aimed her wand, shouted, "Fireball!" and winced as the tree exploded.

Johan hummed, inspecting the tree. He ran his hand along the epicenter of the explosion, muttering something unintelligible, grabbing a leaf out of the air to inspect. Before Louise could ask him to repeat himself, he told her to fire again. And again. Ending after four failed spells—barely a mark on the tree.

Johan muttered something into his beard once more. He then held his hands out in front of him, and immediately a shimmering wall of light formed in front of him.

"What's that?" Louise could not help but ask.

"A ward, meant to block offensive spells," Johan quickly replied.

Louise's eyes grew wide, "Y-You can't be suggesting—"

"Oh, but I am. Worry not, mah lahzey, I'll be fine. Aim a fireball at me."

Louise bit her bottom lip, "Master Johan, I don't believe—"

"Louise, aim a fireball at me," he commanded.

Louise slowly lifted her hand up, "F-F-Fireball!" she cried.

An explosion blocked her mentor from her view, followed quickly by a surprised grunt, and the disappearance of his ward.

"Master Johan!" Louise cried, rushing forward.

Only to stop when he said, "I'm fine," a cough, "I'm fine." There were a few more coughs, and Johan waved the smoke away and pat down his shirt. After the smoke had fully dispersed, he turned his gaze towards Louise.

She quickly turned away, not wanting to see the shame and disgust welling up in his eyes. Only to freeze at his next sentence. "Do that again."

She jerked her head forward, "W-What?!"

"Do that again," he repeated, setting up his ward once more.

Louise screwed her eyes shut, "Fireball!" she quickly exclaimed.

She heard her mentor grunt as the explosion hit him again, as well as the short coughs that followed. She heard him walk forward, stopping a few feet in front of her, but she still kept her eyes closed. Only for them to shoot open at his next statement.

"Amazing."

She jerked her head up, but her mentor had turned his attention on a book he'd summoned out of thin air. He flipped through the pages, muttering something or another.

He then exclaimed triumphantly, pressing his finger on a page. He turned around, casting a wandless spell on the table, which floated up, coming to a stop just above the tree line.

He bent down, showing the page to Louise, "Cast this spell at the table."

Louise grabbed the book, jerking back as she read it, " _Purgatoric Inferno_! But that's a square-class spell!"

Johan nodded sharply, a smile on his face, glee shining in his eyes.

Louise gulped, but at his incessant nods, she held the book in one hand, pointing her wand with the other. She mimed the necessary movements, muttering the incantation but not putting any Willpower into the spell.

After a few moments practice, she cast the spell.

At once, the tip of her wand glowed bright red, and a massive jet of orange flame spiraled upwards. Within seconds, it engulfed the table. By the time the spell ended, its blackened remains floated away with the breeze.

Louise trembled, dumbly staring at her wand.

"Haha, I knew it!" Johan exclaimed.

Slowly, Louise turned to face her master. "W-Wh-Wh-Wha-What just happened?!" she stammered.

Johan laughed heartily, clapping his hands, "Louise...Never, in all my years, have I ever seen such raw power in one so young."

"H-How do you mean?" she asked breathily.

Smile never leaving his face, Johan bent down, picking up a stone, "Transmute this," he said, pebble resting on his open palm.

Numbly, she performed the spell. Predictably, it blew up. Just like that, Louise's stupor vanished, replaced by reality's cruel certainty.

Only to immediately grow confused at Johan's booming laugh. "Look, look at this," he exclaimed, pointing at his empty palm.

The sight made Louise even more confused, "It's…There's nothing."

"Exactly, nothing! There's not even a trace of dust left. You vaporized it!"

Louise paled, she did what?

"Furthermore, look at my hand," when she didn't move at all, Johan grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her forward, "Look at it!"

Louise did so. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to see. It just looked like an old man's hand; although, there was a roughness to it that she thought would be more at home with a Commoner than a Mage.

"You don't—" he groaned, "We'll work on your observation skills later. I'm uninjured."

Louise jerked back, "Wha—That's impossible. No one," she gulped, "No one's ever gotten away unscathed."

"Well, did those people fall over due to the force of your explosion?"

Louise reluctantly thought back to all her previous attempts at spell craft. And after a moment, she nodded.

Johan smiled, closing his palm, "Well, that's probably what did it."

Louise shook her head, "B-But what about my 'Fireball' spell? Are you saying that didn't injure you?"

Surprisingly, Johan shook his head. "It did not. Rattled my body, singed my shirt a bit," Louise looked down, noting the two small scorch marks on his clothing, just below the neckline, "But nothing serious."

He then pointed to the tree she'd aimed at before, "And look at that tree. True, there are no scorch marks, but look at the leaves." Louise did so, frowning at the bare branches overhead. The frown turned to a shocked 'oh' when she noticed that all those leaves were on the grass around the tree. "They were all knocked off," she stated disbelievly

He nodded, a proud gleam in his eyes. He then lightly shook his head, waving his hands in front of him, "Let's not forget the most important thing here."

"What do you mean?"

Johan stared blankly at her, "Are you…okay then."

He raised his hands, purple mist swirling between them. He turned around, throwing his hands out, a purple vortex swirling to life with a metallic hum. "Get me a couple boulders," he said to the portal.

Louise stared wide-eyed as the portal replied, "…Come again?"

"Boulders," Johan repeated, crossing his arms.

"Do you," the voice cut itself of with a groan, "Give me a bit."

After a moment of silence, Louise turned to Johan, chewing her bottom lip, "Um…wh-who is that?"

Johan grunted, "A Dremora that manages my inventory."

"Dremora?" Louise echoed.

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know what those are," he mumbled into his beard. He waved a hand lazily, "It's a demon."

Louise gasped covering her mouth with her hands, "Y-You consort with demons?!"

"When the need arises," Johan idly replied.

Louise stared blankly at him, "By the Founder…you're a heathen!"

"A heathen that helped you cast your first successful spell," her mentor teased with a wide smirk.

Louise couldn't deny that.

There was a booming thud, and Louise returned her attention to the portal—well, the boulder now blocking the portal from view.

"Done," the…demon stated. There was a loud pop, and mist wafted up from behind the boulder.

Johan pointed to the boulder, "Transmute this to iron."

Louise gulped, but she'd followed him this far.

She aimed at the boulder, taking a deep breath. She said the incantation, and the rock started to glow.

Immediately, she ducked down, covering her face.

But nothing happened.

Carefully, she lifted her head, only to fall on her back at sight of the shiny ball of metal in front of her.

Johan strode forward, running his hand along the ball, "Hmmm…yeah, that's iron."

He waved his hand, and a portal opened up beneath the iron, swallowing it up.

"Gah! What is wro—" the demon was cut off as the portal disappeared.

"Now," Johan walked forward, offering his hand to Louise, "What does that tell us about you?"

Louise blinked, "I'm sorry?"

"Come now, you're an intelligent young woman," Louise couldn't help but blush at the praise, "Surely you can use the evidence to come to a reasonable conclusion."

Thus, Louise considered all that occurred.

She could transmute a boulder to iron, but when attempting the same spell on a pebble, it explodes—vaporizes, she corrected herself. Casting 'Fireball,' a dot-class spell, ends in explosions, but she could properly cast 'Purgatoric Inferno,' a square-class spell.

Wait…what level would transmuting the boulder be? She tapped her cheek, furrowing her brow in thought. Transmutation doesn't follow the same classification as other spells: it's dependent on the material of the object, the size and shape of it, and what you're transmuting it into. A boulder of that size…it'd have to be triangle-class, at least.

Then, a conclusion formed in her head. A baffling conclusion, but a conclusion all the same.

She lifted head up, staring Johan in the eye, "Am I," she swallowed thickly, "Am I overloading basic spells?"

Johan nodded, "We'll need to perform more tests, but I believe so."

Louise stared at her wand, "Is it really that simple?"

"To be fair to your," his face shifted into mild disgust, "previous instructors, a novice overloading a spell is a rare occurrence, and to be honest I've never heard of someone causing explosions with every attempt. Still doesn't excuse an entire year of ineptitude though," he added under his breath.

"All this time, I've been  _too_  powerful?" Louise breathlessly asked.

"Hey," her mentor shrugged, "It happens. Much like warriors who find it easier to swing a claymore than a straight sword," Louise frowned at being compared to a Commoner. "However, now that we know this, we can start focusing on granting you greater control on how much power you put into a spell."

"What, why?" she asked, baffled. "Why would I need to know how to cast weaker versions of similar spells."

Johan grunted, "Just because you have no control over how much power you put in a spell, doesn't mean you have unlimited reserves of power. The ability to summon a vortex of fire means nothing if you find yourself growing tired after three casts."

Louise nodded along with his reasoning.

"…And with that, I believe we shall end the lesson for now."

Louise jerked back, "Wait, we're done?!"

"Well not for the day, obviously," he said with a grin, "But we're done with magic for the moment."

Louise scoffed, "What else is there to learn?"

"To start?" he crossed his arms behind his back, "How to wield a dagger."

Louise levelled him a blank stare, "…You're serious?"

Johan merely cocked a brow, bringing his left hand in front of him.

Louise flinched, quickly moving her gaze from her empty hands, to the wand he held in his. How in the world…?

Johan chuckled, tossing her wand back to her, "Come on, I'll lead you back to camp."

Louise wanted to be angry, both at the fact that she needed to learn such a useless skill, and that her wand had, once again, been stolen right from under her nose.

But she couldn't contain her glee at the fact that now she had definitive proof that she was a Mage, that she had finally fulfilled her birthright.

**Line Break**

Matilda despised whoever had swiped the library out from under the Academy's nose. The thought of this mysterious individual alone trumped any respect she felt for the theft itself.

Not only was she—well, technically at any rate—Fouquet the Crumbling Dirt, being blamed for the act. Not only was she forced to abandon her plans to steal the Staff of Destruction held at the Academy. Not only was there apparently an item of great power, or wealth, just sitting in the Library, unprotected. But Tiffania, the only part of Matilda's life she could safely say she'd done good in, was almost crushed by a statue knocked loose by the explosion.

She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth; when she found whoever this bastard was, they'd die a slow, painful death. Maybe she'd drown them in mud? Or bury them alive? Or even have her golem squash them?

"Mademoiselle Longueville are you well?" Colbert suddenly said from behind her.

Matilda immediately let go of her anger, turning around and plastering a look of surprise and worry on her face. "Oh, Professor Colbert!" She bowed, "Forgive me, I was merely thinking about all the people we are hosting to investigate this horrible theft."

Colbert nodded grimly, "Yes, a terrible—!"

_KUURAWW!_

The two faculty turned their heads towards the window, squinting at the three winged figures overhead.

One of them zoomed downed, revealing itself to be a yellow-feathered griffin, along with a rider saddled atop it.

The rider, wearing the ludicrous hats that denoted Tristain's famed 'Griffin Knights' dismounted the beast, fondly petting its flank.

Matilda and Colbert quickly walked out onto the field, Colbert taking the time to quietly shout at a small crowd of students to disperse and go about their day.

The knight, a young man, despite his silvery hair and beard, noticed the pair and walked away from his mount. He bowed with a flourish, lifting his head up to say, "Greetings."

Colbert responded, "Ah, Viscount Francis," he bowed—much less grandly—and continued, "Are you here on behalf of the Palace?"

Francis stood, "Yes. I've also brought members of the Griffin Knights, Marteau and Pierre," he pointed at the two griffins above them, "that will assist with guarding the Academy."

Colbert nodded, and gestured towards the Academy, "Shall we head inside?"

Francis waved his hand, "In a moment, let me just make sure Archie," he pointed at his beast, "is well attended."

Colbert nodded, turning to Matilda to say, "Bring him along to the Headmaster's office when he is done," and then heading back inside

She nodded, turning back to face Francis, who was petting Archie, as she now knew him to be called, and talking with a pair of Commoner's that had walked over. The two Commoner's then headed East, towards the stables, beckoning Archie along, who did so after a quick command from his master.

Matilda turned, "This way, Viscount," and led him forward.

They walked along in silence. Francis broke it first, "I must admit, it was surprising to hear that the Academy had been robbed."

Matilda rolled her eyes, but replied, with practiced worry and fear, "Yes, such a terrible thing to happen, and with all the children studying here."

"To say nothing of the fact," he continued, ignoring her remark, "that whoever they are performed the theft right under your nose, Fouquet."

Matilda froze, eyes widening fractionally. Her wand was hidden down her left boot. If she rolled backwards, that'd give her both distance, and time to grab it and summon a golem to escape.

Francis, now ahead of her, chuckled, looking over his shoulder, "Don't worry," he whispered, "the Palace suspects nothing. I only know because of our mutual friend in Albion."

That set her heart at ease, a bit at least. She then blinked, the head of the Griffin Knights, an affiliate of the Reconquista? A cruel smile ghosted on her lips. Truly, Tristain's days were numbered.

She quickly stepped in-line with Francis, "I've already informed out mutual friend, I know nothing."

"And we believe you," Francis easily replied.

"Truly?"

He shrugged, "The fact that you're here speaks wonders of your innocence, in this instance, at least." He narrowed his eyes, "Do you know what it is that's got everyone running around like a chicken with its head cut off?"

She sighed, "No. Best I can guess, it's a book. The only ones that actually know what's going on are Osmond and Karin Vallière."

Ah, speak of the devil.

As they rounded a corner, the duchess, along with her ever-present scowl, came into view. "Viscount," she said.

"Duchess, how lovely to see you again."

Karin's sharp eyes narrowed slightly, "Are you the only one here on behalf of the Palace?"

If Francis was dismayed at her desire to avoid small talk, he didn't show it, "The Cardinal shall arrive with the Church's official representative in a day's time."

"And what of the Queen?"

Francis frowned, "Oh, I'm afraid she is still in mourning."

Karin grunted dismissively. Despite her own dubious past, Matilda couldn't help but think negatively of Karin, beyond her standard dislike of Nobles. After all, the King and Queen, inadequacies and general 'Noble' behavior aside, did love each other, and his was a sudden death.

Karin seemed to decide the conversation was over, given the speed with which she turned on her heel.

Francis quickly called out, "Shall we visit Louise, while we are here?"

Without turning around or stopping, Karin replied, "If that girl wants to see us, she can take the first step. We have more important things to worry about."

Matilda waited until Karin had vanished from sight, "How do you know her daughter?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Francis blinked, "Louise and I are betrothed."

Matilda could not help the peal of laughter that burst through her lips, "You, and her?"

Francis chuckled along with her, "Now, now, she can be quite adorable under the right circumstances."

There was something about Louise Vallière that niggled on the back of Matilda's mind. What was it?

"Although, Karin—bitch that she is—does have a point. Can't afford to let ourselves get distracted from our main goal."

Ah well, Matilda decided as she and Francis walked forward once more, it probably wasn't all that important.

**A/N: I don't know if what I wrote down is the 'official' reason why Louise can't cast normal spells, it's just what made the most sense to me. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	6. 6

Chapter 6:

Cultural Exchange

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"Oh for—are you trying to aggravate me?"

His student looked over her shoulder, scowling, "I'm doing as you've instructed!"

Johan narrowed his eyes, prompting Louise to drop her attitude, having the sense to look sheepish. With a heavy sigh, he stalked forward, crouching down and grabbing her arm, "Your movements are too stiff!"

"You told me to keep my arm firm!"

Johan kept his face calm, "I told you to keep a firm  _grip_ , and a loose arm."

Louise scoffed, wrenching her arm free, "What's the difference?"

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "The difference…is that your arm can bend, allowing different angles of attack. Like when you cast with a wand."

"This is nothing like wielding a wand!" his student screeched.

Johan stood, angrily tugging his beard. Damn girl was being too stubborn for her own good!...Time to change tracks.

"Do you want to live a long life?"

She blinked, staring up at him, "What?"

He continued, "Do you want to get married, have children, grow old with your loved ones?"

She blushed, averting her gaze, "Y-Yes."

"Then heed my words," he intoned, waiting until she looked back at him. "The world is a large, dangerous place, especially for a young woman. Magic is a grand tool, but it is one of many. My  _lessons_ ," he stressed the word, "are meant to give you, at the very least, an adept knowledge in as many different tools as possible, so that you might live a long enough life to grow old with your children."

He turned his head down, grunting as she averted her gaze, "Look at me," he commanded. She hesitantly did so, eyes heavy with emotion, "All that I teach you is for your benefit, for the sake of your safety." Briefly, memories of grieving families bubbled to the surface of his mind. His cleared his throat, "I don't want to find out that you ended up dead because you lacked the knowledge to defend yourself. Knowledge that I could have easily provided."

Louise's eyes softened, losing a bit of their anger. She sighed, gripping her dagger with both hands, bowing her head, "I understand, Master Johan."

He nodded, "Good," he gestured to the straw dummy, "Now, let's do this again."

She returned to the dummy, striking it once more. She was still terrible, but at least this was due to her own inexperience, and not childish spite.

Johan grunted, walking forward and drawing his own dagger. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Rest a moment. Watch me," and executed the drills, properly, once again.

**Line Break**

Louise grimaced as she bit into her jerky. Not because it tasted terrible—it was actual quite succulent—but because she had to eat it with her  _hands_. She shuddered involuntarily when she caught sight of her greasy, stained fingers. They were going to take  _hours_  to wash.

Johan sighed, leaning back and patting his belly, "I'd forgotten how tasty campfire cooking can be!" Louise could not begin to think about how utterly wrong that statement was. "What about you," her Master suddenly directed at her, "Filling meal?"

Louise did her best to wipe the grease off her fingers, "It was…filling," she admitted. "Especially in light of the fact that I skipped breakfast."

Johan chuckled guiltily, "I'll admit, that was my error. I was so excited to begin, and then annoyed at your inexcusable tardiness," Louise glared heatedly at him, "That I forgot that you can't just eat one meal a day."

The young apprentice blinked, "You only eat  _one_  meal a day?" she parroted incredulously.

Johan shrugged, "Can't exactly plant things atop a snowy mountain. Granted, food storage is easy; but between meditating and entering debates with whomever crossed my path, it's easy to forget about the little things."

"Wha…? What could you possibly debate about that you forget to  _eat_?!"

Johan didn't verbally reply to her query. He did, however, smile sharply, a mischievous twinkle shining in his gaze. Before Louise could repeat her question, he suddenly turned his gaze towards the sky. He lifted his hand to block some sunlight, "Hmmm, I think we'll start on wandless magic now."

Her previous befuddlement quickly melted away, a wide, bright smile forming on her lips. Finally!

She shot up, dusting off her skirt. "Yes!" she exclaimed, "Let's begin with haste!"

Her Master didn't respond with nearly the same level of enthusiasm. He didn't respond at all actually. He stayed seated, hands clasped under his chin, face wrinkled in deep thought.

Louise leaned forward, clearing her throat, "Master Johan? Wandless magic?" she gestured to her side, "Can we begin?"

Johan sighed heavily, staring up at her. He licked his lips, "Louise…wandless magic is…different than the magic you're familiar with."

Louise snorted, obviously.

"It comes from…a different source."

Wait, what could that mean?

"It is…wholly unrelated to the," some expression she couldn't quite identify flitted over his face, "Founder Brimir."

Louise took a moment to process his statement. Then another. And another. After four minutes passed, her eyes widened, and she shuffled back in shock, "That's impossible!" she cried, "Mages are only capable of wielding magic by the grace of the Founder!"

Johan spread his hands out, "And yet," fire burst to life in his right hand, electricity doing the same in his left.

The initial shock had lessened to a degree. Thinking on it—really,  _really_  thinking on it—Louise could consider the slight chance that there may possibly be other magics that aren't related to the Founder; after all, Elves most certainly did not follow His will. She shivered, the blasphemous thought alone sending a chill down her spine. "Wh," she swallowed the lump in her throat, "Where did you learn this…magic? Your homeland?" Johan nodded, cancelling his spells, and clasping his hands beneath his chin. "Who…who taught it to you?"

Johan hummed in thought. "…My father taught me my first few spells. Nothing too impressive; Flames, Healing, Clairvoyance," he rattled off. When Louise's face scrunched up in confusion following the last word, he elaborated, "A spell that shows you the quickest path to your objective."

Louise blinked, "That's sounds amazing!" she blurted out.

Johan made a 'so-so' gesture, "It can be a bit finicky. I'll get into why that's so when we start the actual lessons." He sighed, "But we're losing track of my main point."

"And," Louise crossed her arms, suddenly and inexplicably nervous, "What is your main point."

"I need to know," Johan began, "That you will be comfortable learning my homeland's magic." When Louise said nothing, merely staring at him, he continued, "The thing is, what I seek to teach you…frankly speaking, it could get you ostracized from your church."

Louise blanched, "What? Why? It's just magic," but even she knew how hollow that statement was.

But her Master shook his head regardless, "The Church of the Founder has an…unfortunate habit of violently murdering anyone that hold differing religious beliefs."

That statement irked Louise. It was one thing to say that the Church was hesitant to accept other beliefs, but to claim that they would needlessly murder people? Insane! And she told him as much.

Johan scoffed at her words, snapping his fingers and summoning a thick book from thin air. He flicked his wrist, and it flew forward, barely giving Louise enough time to catch it. She blinked at the title, 'A History of the Church of the Founder'. She never read the book, but her father had nothing but good things to say about it. Something about it being a good catalogue of all the Church's important historical events.

"Page three-hundred fifty-nine, paragraph six," Johan suddenly stated.

Baffled, Louise turned to the passage he described. She scanned the page for a bit, paling as she read the passage he described.

"Read it."

Louise gulped, "Master Johan, I don't—"

"Read. It," he repeated forcefully.

Louise exhaled shakily, "'Thus, under the command of Pope Gratia IX, the heretics of the village Le Loch, in Germania, were burned. S-S-S," Louise cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore the fact that her heart had jumped up into it, "Some questioned the decision to kill even the children, under the grounds that they could be taught the proper path. But His Holiness reasoned, rightly so, that…that'," she stopped, sending him a pleading look, which he returned with a harsh stare. In the end, she returned to the book, "But His Holiness reasoned, rightly so, that all traces of the heretics be purged; that even the babes were poisoned by their parent's dark dealings.'"

Louise lowered the book, loosening her collar.

Johan simply hummed, "And that's just what was written down. Imagine what the actual reasons were."

Louise fervently shook her head, "N-No, no!" she cried. "This, this isn't right!"

"It's  _religion_ , mah lahzey. What's right is a matter of perspective." He grunted, "Clearly, your Church is of the perspective that burning children is something to be lauded."

Still, she shook her head, "That was," she internally cursed that fact that she didn't remember when Pope Gratia IX ruled, "ages ago."

"It was one-hundred and fifty years ago," Johan deadpanned. His gaze narrowed, "I don't want to debate the merits of your religion with you—unless of course  _you_  want to," he added beneath his breath. "What I want is to make sure that you understand that, if we go through with this, and if word ever got out, you may very well be branded a heretic, and hunted down like a rabid dog."

Louise paled. She wanted to call out his statement as ludicrously absurd. But she couldn't deny what she'd just read.

She looked inward. On the one hand, this was a  _wholly_  unheard-of type of magic. The chance to study it, to be the first Halkeginian to learn it? She'd have to be a fool to pass that up. Yet, she'd been a member—nominal she may be—of the Church her entire life. She owed her entire existence to the Founder! " _But what has the Founder done for you in your sixteen years of life, that Master Johan hasn't done in less than three days?_ " a part of her whispered. She stilled at the blasphemous thought. But she could not deny its veracity. Her eyes narrowed as she recalled what various holy men and women had told her when they discovered she couldn't perform magic.

'A waste of good blood'.

'Should send her away to a convent'.

'Might as well have been born in a barn'.

She grit her teeth, the anger and humiliation she'd buried deep within her roaring back to the present.

Setting her mouth in a thin line, she turned her gaze towards her Master, "…I wish to learn your magic."

Johan crossed his arms, "Are you sure?" She nodded, "I'm going to be covering topics that you've been raised to believe are heretical. Are you willing to keep an open mind, and keep all discussions pertaining to such topics civil?" She hesitated, before nodding once more.

"Good," Johan held his hands out, blue mist coalescing in his hands, "We start now!" He threw his hands forward, mist shooting out over the firepit, turning the fire a brilliant shade of purple. Louise jumped back, yelping in fright. Johan, to her irritation, laughed at her plight. "Impressive, huh?" he called out as he waved his hands around.

Louise did her best to shove her displeasure aside, "What on earth is this?"

"A complex spell belonging to the Illusion school of magic," he answered, weaving the firepits purple smoke into a thick sheet above them.

She blinked, " _This_  is the first spell you are going to teach me?"

Her mentor shook his head, "Oh no! It's far too advanced for a novice to grasp. And it doesn't have all too many practical applications," he paused, hands hovering in front of him as the shadows of the fire danced across his face, granting his smile a malicious edge, "It's mainly used to entertain children."

Louise wanted to scowl at the fact that she was being treated like a child, but she had to admit, the way the fire and smoke bent to Johan's will was impressive.

Finally, Johan stopped moving his arms in such grand motions. "…In order to explain how my homeland's magic works, you're going to need a bit of background information." He curled his fingers, smoke swirling above them, "In the beginning," he said in a startlingly booming voice, "there was nothing," the mist, previously colorful, had abruptly changed into a thick black dome around them, blotting out the sun's rays. Louise wrapped her arms around her shoulders, the purple flames seeming to make the area colder than warmer.

"Then, Order and Chaos—also known to my people as Anu and Padomy, respectively—formed from that nothingness," Louise wanted to comment as how such being had formed—and also why anyone would  _name_  such abstract concepts as 'Order' and 'Chaos'—but her words died in her throat as two lights, one white, one red, burst to life above her. She spared a glance at Johan, who was wholly concentrating on the Illusion above them, deftly moving his fingers in what she assumed to be specific motions. "The two forces found that they were wholly opposed to one another. Thus, as is the norm when two stubborn assholes meet, they fought."

Louise frowned at his language. Were these not his people's gods? Why would he mock them?

"However, the two would soon find themselves to be largely equal," this was visualized by a harsh white light exploding overhead. When she finally managed to rub the spots out of her eyes, she saw that the two orbs of light were ramming into each other, only to bounce off and come around for another go. This continued for many, many turns.

"Yes, a bit boring, isn't it?" Johan called out, his voice back to its normal cadence.

Louise looked at him, eyes flat.

"Don't worry," he rolled his shoulders, winking at her, "It gets much more interesting." He took a deep breath, speaking in what Louise decided to call his 'entertainer' voice, "Sometime during these clashes—exactly when and why is a matter for debate—Anu and Padomy birthed two separate beings. From Anu came Anui-El, the origin of light." From the white light, a part of it broke off, changing from white to glittering gold. "From Padomy, Sithis, the void." The red light underwent a similar process, only instead of giving off a brilliant shine, this secondary part sucked in the light around it, leaving nothing but an opaque shape. "Sithis and Anui-El inherited their progenitor's antagonism, only this time, things would end differently."

She returned her gaze to the two lights, noting that they'd morphed into humanoid—genderless, she observed after a moment—forms. The two stood before one another, curious, given the way their heads tilted. Anui-El raised its arm, which Sithis mimicked. Slowly, their hands inched closer, the space between them churning violently. Then, they touched, and there was another, far greater, far more colorful, explosion.

Louise ducked her head down, covering her face to ensure she wasn't blinded. It was only when the shadows stopped dancing across her feet that she finally looked back up; and what a sight it was.

She could not hope to hold back the awe-filled gasp that broke through her lips. The sheet of smoke, previously red and white—with a bit of gold and black—was now a kaleidoscope of color. She wound her head around, marveling at the waves of orange, green, purple, and yellow light crashing into each other, creating a breathtaking, multi-colored sea.

"This…is Aurbis—the universe itself." Johan grew silent, evidently waiting for some sort of comment or expression from Louise. When she didn't do anything other than stare in wonder, he continued.

"Now—because doing your own thing hadn't been invented yet—Anui-El and Sithis split off parts of themselves to form new entities—the fifth and sixth oldest beings in all creation, if you're paying attention," he said with a wink. His fingers danced in the air once more, "Sithis bore Lorkhan," a piece of Sithis's leg broke off, forming another, smaller, humanoid figure. That was where the similarities ended, as this figure, Lorkahn, was clearly masculine, given his much broader chest compared to his sire. "Also known as Lorkahj, Shor, Shezzar, and Sep. And from Anui-El," a smile tugged on his lips, "my personal favorite, Auri-El—also known as Akatosh, Alkosh, Ruptga, and  ** _Bormah_**."

Louise frowned at that last word; there was something in his voice that made it sound more important than the other titles. Before she could further ruminate, the piece of Anui-El—from its arm—that broke off to form Auri-El had fully taken shape. She leaned closer, brow furrowed, "Is that…does it have two heads?"

Johan nodded, "Yes. Akatosh is both a man, and a dragon. Two parts of the same whole; the God of Time."

Louise nodded, "Okay…and what of Lorkhan?"

Johan hummed, "He isn't really 'God' of anything. For reasons that shall soon become clear," he added as his student opened her mouth to speak once more. "Now, as Aurbis was forming, Anu and Padomy were not just milling about the background, watching things unfold." The images shifted, returning to the original depiction of Anu and Padomy bouncing off of each other. "See, with Auri-El's birth came Time, the structure that Aurbis desperately needed. Before, only direct actions could have consequences, but now the indirect can as well. Before, when Anu and Padomy clashed, when the  _bled_ ," he emphasized the words by showing flecks of the pair fly off and land around them, "nothing happened. But now…" the 'puddles' of blood started to pool together, coalescing. Padomy's 'blood' darkened, and from this…purple…essence, Louise supposed, can a multitude of horned, humanoid beings. Away from these beings, Padomy's red 'blood' had mixed with Anu's white 'blood', from which pink, non-horned humanoids rose.

Louise pursed her lips, "Wait…where are the beings born from Anu's blood alone?"

Her Master beamed at her, "That is an excellent question!" He continued to stare at her, not answering her question. Eventually, her lips dipped into an annoyed frown. With a huff, she motioned for him to continue.

Johan chuckled, "Where was I? Oh, yes!" He flexed his fingers, and the red and pink beings took up the whole view. "Now, the beings born solely of Padomy's blood, the Daedra, are creatures of destruction. There are many of them; the weakest being no more troubling than a rabid wolf, and the strongest among them, the Princes," he hissed, "are gods in their own right." Johan lowered his head towards Louise, eye's shadowed, voice grave, "Pray that you never catch their attention."

Louise shivered, these 'Daedra', as he called them, sounded worse than Elves.

"Conversely," he said in a much more pleasant tone, the light from the flame and smoke growing brighter, "those born of both Anu's and Padomy's, the Aedra," now, the pink beings took up the majority of their vision, and Louise had to admit, they certainly looked far less menacing, "while capable of an equal amount of destruction as their kin, are also able to manipulate Aurbis. To create things from it."

He hummed, "Before I forget, what you said earlier, about beings born from Anu's blood alone?" Louise nodded, leaning closer, "There's much debate over whether a classification of Aedra, the Magna Ge, were born from a mixture of Anu and Padomy's blood, or Anu's alone."

Louise groaned, " _Why_  is there 'much debate'," she mocked, "over these things! Why can't you all just agree on one, factual, course of events?"

Johan grinned, "It's more fun this way!"

Louise shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Now," Johan began once more, "Aurbis is divided into four distinct realms," the images shifted to a pitch-black nothingness, "Sithis founded the Void, the nothingness from which all comes from." Once again, the image shifted, this time to an innumerable count of dark, magenta clouds, lightning crackling within them, "The Daedra overtook Oblivion; a terrible place where time and space hold little meaning, and they rule as despots." This time, the clouds gave way to golden, almost blinding light, "The Aedra took to Aetherius, whose mysterious energies allowed them to manipulate all of Aurbis as they saw fit. And finally, Mundus," the images changed for one final time, showing off another sheet of nothingness, "arguably the most malleable piece of Aurbis, and the place we mortals call home."

Louise hummed, but didn't say anything, knowing by now that Johan would answer any questions she had soon enough.

"While most of the higher beings saw Mundus as nothing special—just empty space to be twisted with as one pleased, Lorkhan thought differently. He believed that great things could come from Mundus; if only one could give it shape." The images shifted once more, showing Lorkhan surrounded multiple Aedra, along with Auri-El, "Lorkhan convinced a great many Aedra—along with his counterpart, Auri-El—to assist him with his plan to grant Mundus form. But it came at a great cost," suddenly, the surrounding Aedra blew away, as if they were made of dust, "Lorkhan failed to inform his kin that, in order to form Mundus, they would need to give up a great deal of their power, all but destroying their physical forms." The images showed Auri-El, half-way gone himself, stride upon Lorkhan, striking him, splitting him in two, "However, before fading away himself, Auri-El killed Lorkhan, the force of the blow splitting the him in two—which would go on to become the moons hovering overhead," he added with a much more jovial tone.

Louise blinked. His people believed that the moons were the remains of a dead god? That…that might have been the craziest thing she'd heard since he started this whole thing.

"Now, Lorkhan didn't trick all Aedra into helping form Mundus—rather, completely trick them." The images showed off a large number of pink beings flying through the sky, "A being known as Magnus realized Lorkhan's before it was too late and gathered a large number of followers—the Magna Ge, remember them?—to flee Mundus before it sucked them dry. They tore holes through the barriers between the realms as they rushed for Aetherius, Magnus forming the sun, and the rest forming the stars. From these holes between the realms, the essence of Aetherius flows into Mundus, granting mortals the ability—on a much, much smaller scale—to bend reality to their will. To cast magic." With that, Johan cancelled his spell, the smoke overhead drifting away, allowing sunlight to filter in from above, the unnatural purple flames fading into cinders.

Louise sighed; it was an impressive story, to be sure. She then jerked her head up, "Hold on, that's it?!" She jerked her pointer finger at him, "This 'Magnus' and his followers tearing holes in the sky, that's why your people believe we can cast magic?"

Johan shrugged, "It's the most popular theory."

Louise ignored the fact that his people couldn't even agree on the origins of magic, instead saying, "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

Her mentor cocked a brow, "Would that have been a satisfactory answer?"

Louise faltered, internally admitting that no, it wouldn't have been. But he didn't need to know that. Although, the knowing smirk he sent her told her he already knew that. He then said, "The main purpose of that show was to inform you that magical ability is, essentially, bending reality to your will." He waved his arm, "Granted, the origins are still disputed," he seemed to ignore Louise's comment of 'of course they are', "but they all agree that when mortals cast magic, they're really just manipulating reality using the essence of Aetherius bleeding through the stars."

Louise took a deep breath. "I…understand what you mean. But," a scowl formed on her lips, "This doesn't mean that I'm going to convert to your overly complicated religion!"

Johan smirked, "That's fine. I don't want to convert you, only teach you. But if you ever wish, I will always be available to elaborate on the intricacies of my people's beliefs."

Louise nodded resolutely; she doubted that she would, but appreciated the sentiment all the same.

"Now," Johan clapped his hands, rubbing them together, "Let's get on to the good part!" An orb of purple mist—which looked similar to the clouds of Oblivion, Louise noted—formed above his fingertips. He separated his hands, and five books came into existence, floating around him. They all began with the same three words, 'An Introduction to:', and, obviously, ended with different titles. The first she got a good look at had a black cover, with what seemed to be a hand, made of fire, on it, was called 'Destruction'. The second one was orange, with three interconnected circles adorning its cover was named 'Illusion'. The third was yellow, with some sort of bird, and called 'Restoration'. The fourth, red, with a tree that had lost half of its leaves, 'Alteration'. The last book—labelled 'Conjuration'—was the most curious; it was purple, and as with his spell, a similar shade to what he represented Oblivion as. Its symbol was also utterly alien to her, a filled in circle resting between what she could only describe as a bent, two-pronged fork.

She must have stared at the book more intensely than she thought, for Johan grabbed it out of the air, "Ah, I see that Conjuration has caught your eye."

Louise repeated the word, "Conjuration…what does that entail?"

Her mentor lightly beat the book against his right hand, "It's…arguably the most dangerous of the schools. Remember Oblivion, the realm of the Daedra?"

She nodded hesitantly, not liking where this was going.

"The school of Conjuration involves opening a link between yourself and that realm."

Louise paled, "Well…who in their right mind would ever think of doing something like that?"

Johan swept his hand aside, and a massive purple portal opened up beside him.

"Yes?" a familiar voice drawled.

Johan replied, "Just making a point to my newest pupil."

The voice huffed, "Alright then. Thank you, by the way, for that massive boulder of iron."

Johan smiled at the portal, "You're welcome,' and with another wave, closed it. He eyed Louise with a grin, "You can do that with it. Assuming, of course, that you've the sufficient strength and will."

Strength and Will. Louise bent her head down, drumming her fingers against her thighs. Considering the table that she'd complete obliterated, she had both of those in spades.

"But now that I think about it, Conjuration will have to wait," the book disappeared in a flash of purple light, "It's certainly a very versatile type of magic, but the mechanics behind are a bit," he pursed his lips for a moment, "much for an utter novice."

Louise's eye twitched at his words, but she had to admit that there was truth in them. She then turned her attention to the other books, eyeing each of them before finally reaching for the book on 'Destruction'.

Johan nodded as the other books disappeared, "Good choice for a beginner." He then snapped his fingers, and table and chair popped into existence beside them, another, larger table—without a chair—appearing a bit away from them.

Louise thanked him, sitting down and opening the book to its first page.

"So," it began, "you've decided to become a murderer!"

Louise jolted back, shaking her head. She peered back at the book, only to reaffirm that, yes, that was the first sentence. She turned around, but upon seeing that Johan was in the middle of cleaning that ridiculously rusty Commoner blade he'd purchased—a number of other weapons laying in front of him—decided against bothering him.

She continued reading.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that shock you? Well it shouldn't. Destruction magic is meant for one thing, and one thing alone. Destruction." That honestly made sense. "If you want to learn how to use your magic to help others, put this book down, and pick up something on Restoration.

…

Still here? Great. Let's begin."

**A/N: Have you ever looked into the main church of the FoZ universe? Shit's fucked. Also, as stated in the chapter, what I wrote down is just one interpretation of how the Elder Scrolls universe came to be. It's actually a really interesting study. As always, be sure to leave a review.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Roadblocks

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Louise scowled as she reread the latest passage, referring back to her notes. "That doesn't make sense," she muttered.

"What doesn't make sense?"

Louise yelped, jumping in her seat. She whirled around, scowling, "Don't do that!"

Johan grunted, ignoring her comment with a raised brow.

Louise sighed, scooting her chair back, "It's these passages, about the weather," she pointed to the book and her own notes. "How can it be both good  _and_  bad to cast spells in the rain?"

Johan hummed, leaning forward, eyes roaming the pages. "…Ah, I see the confusion." He straightened, holding his hands out, a flame bursting to life in his left, and purple electricity crackling in right. "It depends on the element. Ice-type spells ignore rain, but fire and lightning-type spells have vastly different effects."

The flame in his hand shot up into a thin gout, "Fire, obviously, will sizzle out. Now, a mage of sufficient power—present company included," he added with a wry smirk, "can cast a fire spell regardless of the weather, but it's still considered wasteful—since your targets will most likely be soaked." That made sense—it's what the Academy taught about Fire-type spells as well.

"Now, lightning spells," the spell in his right hand shot up into the air, arcs of lightning sparking outward but never straying too far, "Have…different issues. Sometimes, water makes it so that lightning spells are more effective, and other times, they make them less effective."

Louise blinked, grabbing a quill and some blank paper. "Hold on, how does that work? Shouldn't water make electricity only better or only worse?" Idly, she wondered if her mother knew such things about lightning—the Duchess was considered the foremost expert on the subject. Her thoughts then turned dark; even if she did, why would she ever think to mention it to her failure of a daughter?

"Yes," her mentor's voice brought her back to a much brighter reality, "you'd think so. It certainly stumped me the first time I heard of it." He cancelled the spells, and flicked his left hand out, the tell-tale mists of Oblivion curling around it. Two plain, clear glass bowls flashed into existence, floating in the air until Johan directed them to the table. "Excuse me," he said, prompting Louise to scoot over further and allow him to bend over the cups.

He summoned ice in his left hand, and fire in his right. He held his hands inches from each other, casting the spells. A steady trickle of water seeping into the first bowl.

Louise tilted her head, "Would it not be simpler to just cast a water spell?"

Johan grunted, moving onto the second bowl, "Yes, it would be. But I still have a hard time casting pure water spells."

"You what?!" Louise blurted out.

Johan paused, staring quizzically at Louise, "Yes, I—oh!" He smiled softly, "Mah lahzey, were you under the impression that I had complete mastery over all forms of magic?" Louise nodded hesitantly. Johan hummed, "Then I apologize, I did not mean to mislead you as such." He chuckled, "Make no mistake, I am a very skilled mage. But there are still aspects of magic whose mastery still eludes me." He winked at her, "Maybe we can figure them out together, eh?"

Louise blushed at the thought that she could ever  _help_  her master with magical study.

Johan had returned to his task, quickly filling up the second bowl. He then snapped his fingers, summoning a small bowl of salt, and four small plates. Two of them were…brass? Copper? She couldn't say—they looked dirty too, preventing her from making sound judgment. The other two looked like steel—boring, unassuming steel. He poured the salt into one of the bowls, casting a small wind spell to stir the bowl, fully dissolving most of the salt into the water.

Louise stared questioningly at her Master, "Um…what is this?" Johan merely raised a finger in reply, dropping the plates—one of each—Into the bowls. He cast a lightning spell, the electricity arcing to hit both plates. The first bowl—the one without the salt—bubbled a bit, but nothing over happened. It was when he cast the spell at the second bowl that things began to change. The clear water slowly became a sludgy maroon, blocking the plates from view.

She recoiled in disgust, "What  _is_  that?!"

Johan replied, "Electricity at work." He reached for the sludgy mess, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Louise was sure he was going to stick his own hand into it. Thankfully, he didn't. Instead, his hand hovered above the dirty bowl, palm glowing orange. Then, slowly, the two plates rose from the muck.

She immediately noticed that the plate from the sludge looked much cleaner than before. She turned her wide gaze towards him, "What just happened?"

"It's called electro-something. A new process from my homeland; used to clean copper and such. Well," he dropped the plates, cupping his chin, "calling it 'new' is a bit of a lie. It was a regular practice among a long-dead civilization, and only recently revived by a friend of mine." He said nothing else, merely eyeing Louise with a look that she'd quickly learnt to mean that he wanted her to fill in the blanks.

She thought back on exactly what had occurred, and the main purpose of this little show. It had to do with lightning—that much was obvious. But why had nothing occurred in the first bowl? Then, she recalled the salt he'd placed in the water. The previously untainted water.

She pursed her lips, "Is it…Does it have to with the purity of the water?"

Johan nodded, "Pure water does not conduct electricity, but impure water—most water you'll find in the world, really—does."

"And…that's because of the things in the impure water? Salt and such?" Johan nodded. Louise hummed, furiously writing notes. "Does that mean that certain materials make it easier for lightning to travel through water?" she asked without looking up from her writings. Johan grunted an affirmation. It was only after Louise had finished writing that she paused, a thought coming to life. "Hold on, when would this matter. If, as you say, most water is impure—strengthening lightning spells, correct?" when Johan nodded, she continued, "then why would I need to know about pure water. Surely, I'm not expected to electrocute drinking water," she said with a laugh.

That laugh died in her throat at her master's grim stare. "It all revolves around combat," he intoned.

Louise's mind flashed to the first sentence of her book. She gulped, "W-When would—when would I ever come across such a situation?"

Johan shrugged, "There's a high-level Alteration spell that removes impurities from liquids—dirt, excrement, insect, those sorts of things. Mages will use it to turn ponds and small lakes into long-term sources of safe water." He looked up into the sky, "It mainly comes up if they're on a small island and you couldn't hit the broadside of a barn. In an impure water source, electrocuting the water turns it into a massive death trap—your target doesn't have much options then. In pure water you'd be lucky if the electricity travelled more than a foot."

Louise shivered, not wanting to think about just how her mentor knew these things. She then asked, "So, if I ever find myself in c-combat," she cleared her throat, "with a mage wielding lightning, I should douse myself in water, to protect myself against two elements?"

"Oh, heavens no! Soak yourself in water—no matter the purity—and you'll just die quicker!"

Louise's trepidation vanished in favor of incredulity, "What?!" she threw her hands up in the air, "Did you not just tell me that water purity was an essential part in how electricity functions!"

"Yes, when dealing with large sources of water," Johan stressed. "Like…if you want to have some fish, but don't want to actually do any fishing."

Louise almost pulled at her hair, "What self-respecting mage would use  _lightning_  to kill  _fish_?!"

"A hungry one."

Louise bit down on her lip, muffling a scream.

**Line Break**

"Now, " Johan began after sending away their dirty dishes, "what is the basic theory behind the school of Destruction?"

Louise sighed, sitting up straighter on her stump. She shifted her head over to towards her tent, where her notes laid on her desk. "Do you need a moment to gather your materials?" he asked

But she shook her head; she'd spent all night pouring over the books and her own notes, she knew this. "It all has to do with energy—the addition or removal of it. By manipulating how energy—your own energy" she added, "interacts with the latent magic—"

"Magicka," Johan gently corrected.

Louise rolled her eyes, what a pointless distinction, "Right, magicka—in the world. Drawing in energy creates Ice spells, pouring out excess energy creates lightning, and matching your energy with the world's creates fire." She said that last bit with an air of finality. There was obviously much, much more on the subject, but she felt she'd managed to simplify it all. And given the approving gleam in her master's eyes, she did.

He nodded at her, "Ready to try it?"

Louise couldn't get out of her seat fast enough.

Only for Johan to hold up his hand, "Hold on. You may know the theory, but you still need some finer details." He snapped his fingers, and three books with the Destruction school's symbol on the covers. Each had a different word printed on the bottom; 'Flames', 'Frost', and 'Spark'.

Johan gestured to the books, which floated dramatically before them, "These are the three most basic spells in the Destruction school; perhaps the most basic spells in  _all_  the schools." He jerked his head at her, "Pick one to start."

Louise frowned, eying the books. "Should we not start with higher level spells, considering my condition?"

"Those books must not have covered it," Johan mumbled into his beard. Aloud, he told her, "The spells—rather, the established spells—of my homeland are more rigid than the ones you'll find here. They simply will not allow you to pour so much magicka into them that they blow up. Overloading a spell will just make it more powerful—except for the school of Conjuration, which has the most rigid magicka requirements—or change its type, if you're dealing with the school of Destruction."

That was a pleasant thought. She then asked, "What do you mean by 'established spells'?"

"They are spells that have been thoroughly tried and tested by various mages—experts in their craft—before being allowed for public use."

Louise blinked, "You mean to say…that the mages of your homeland  _create_  new spells on their own?"

Johan shrugged, "Sure. When I was still but a novice I helped fellow students test a number of spells before they presented them to our instructor's for approval."

"Have you ever created a spell?"

Johan smirked, "Yes. Nothing a novice could handle," Louise's twitched at the reminder, "But given enough time, who knows? Now, by all means," he said, gesturing to the books.

Louise eyed the books before her, homing in on 'Flames'. A wicked thought crossed her mind; mastering the Fire variants of foreign magic would be an excellent way to one-up that tramp Zerbst, should they ever meet again.

"Hmm," her master hummed, sending the other two books away as Louise grasped the 'Flames' spell, "good choice. It has a great deal more practical applications than the other spells too." Louise only slightly ignored her teacher's words in favor of opening the book.

**Line Break**

"Don't see why I couldn't start practicing the spell yet," Louise grumbled under her breath.

"Because I said so," Johan bluntly replied from over her shoulder. His large arm then came into view, a calloused finger pointing to the dagger and cloth in her hands, "You missed a spot."

Louise silently screamed, slamming the dagger and cloth onto the table. "Why do I even need to know this? Surely there is a spell that can perform this inane action for me?!"

"Oh, of course," Johan drew his arm back, and Louise turned around—fire in her eyes—to see him pull out his own dagger. His hand glowed slightly, and the dagger gained a green, translucent sheen. "Within the school of Alteration lies a spell that, when cast, prevents your items from dirtying."

"Well why don't you cast the same spell on my," she eyed the dagger in distaste, "equipment?"

"And deprive you of the opportunity to learn a new skill? Perish the thought!" he said with a laugh.

Louise's scowl deepened, before giving way to a hopeful frown, "When will I learn this spell?"

"After you learn to care for your equipment by hand." Her scowl returned full force, prompting her Master to say, "Mah lahzey, what did I say not hours ago?" She huffed, puffing her cheeks into a pout. "Louise," he said a bit hasher than before.

Louise rolled her eyes, "'All that I teach you is for your benefit,'" she ground out.

"Exactly," Johan nodded. "Besides," he added, "this task is so simple children can do it. Are you less capable than a child, mah lahzey?"

She recognized the taunt for what it was. That didn't mean it wasn't effective.

Thus, she returned to her demeaning task with reluctant fervor.

She could feel Johan smile as he walked away to his own table. Once again, he worked on that rusty—well, less rusted now—commoner blade. Once again, Louise stopped her work. "What's so special about that thing anyway?" she asked.

Johan paused, looking up at her, "This blade is enchanted."

Louise shot up out of her seat, "It's what?! Impossible!" she violently shook her head, "There's no way a blade touched by magic could be so…ordinary."

Johan gave her a deadpan stare. He snapped his fingers, a small, dull dagger with a brown handle falling into his hands. Looking straight at her, he hefted the dagger and threw it into a tree. Immediately, there was an explosion of white, and spikes of ice shooting out everywhere along the bark.

Louise gulped, "Okay…point taken."

Johan smirked, then gestured for her to come over. As she stood beside him, he pointed at the blade, "Can you feel the magic held within?"

Louise frowned, staring at the blade. Magical enchantments were for third and fourth-years, and she'd never bothered to research the topic in her own time. But it couldn't be all that hard. She focused on her own magic, trying to draw it out to interact with the sword.

After a moment, Johan said, "You don't know anything about enchanting, do you?"

Louise's scowl deepened, but she did not want to admit her shortcoming.

Johan sighed, "For starters, you should  _touch_  the item in question."

Louise gasped, aghast. Touch that  _thing?_  It's so dirty!

Johan sighed once more. He then grabbed her hand, forcing it onto the hilt.

Louise would have belted a long stream of harsh words, were it not for the jolt of energy that shot up her arm.

"Feel it now."

Louise scowled at the smile in his voice, quickly pulling her hand away and wiping it on her cloak, "Don't ever do that again!"

"Stop being so stubborn, and I might."

Louise scoffed, staring down at her hand. It was going to take  _hours_  to clean. She pushed those thoughts away, however, in favor of scientific curiosity. "So, what enchantment does the blade hold?"

"Now that's the question, isn't it?" Johan said, leaning on the able and stroking his beard. "I've already ruled out an elemental enchantment, those have distinctive feelings. If I had to guess...it's a passive enchantment—something along the lines of strengthening your body."

'Strengthening the body,' what could that mean. After ruminating on the phrase, she said, "Does that mean that it…enhances your skin and muscles?"

Johan nodded, "To various effects—greater swings of a weapon, the ability to endure more injuries, faster movement," he listed. "But you usually see those types of enchantments on clothing, armor, or jewelry. Putting it on a weapon is…strange…" he trailed off, staring at the blade in earnest.

Louise shrugged, "Is there not a way to find out the exact specifications of the enchantment?"

"Oh, yes. But I'd need to set up an Arcane Enchanter, that takes at least two days," he said over his shoulder. He then looked up at the sky, "…Okay, we'll have our last meal of the day soon. After that, the night is yours."

**Line Break**

Johan frowned at his student's miserable expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Louise, previously stalking ahead of him, paused. "It's nothing!" she bit out, but he could see a blush on her cheeks.

"Mah lahzey," he said in a gentle tone, "What ails you? Are you homesick?"

She clenched her fists but was still silent. At that point, Johan was willing to let the matter lie, but then she said, "A fish brushed past my feet as I was bathing!"

Johan blinked slowly, "A…fish…"

Louise shivered, "Yes! In the river! It was cold and slimy and went right between my legs!"

"Oh!" Johan snapped his fingers, "So that's why you ran screaming for your tent! I assumed it was because you realized you only had fifteen minutes until our day started."

A heavy sigh, "That as well…"

Johan stared at her a moment, before chuckling softly, and gently patting her shoulder, "A lightning spell would have been good then, wouldn't it?" His chuckle evolved into a full-on laugh at the heated glare she sent his way. "Hah…speaking of, ready to start wandless magic?"

That brought a smile to her face. She shrugged her satchel off her shoulders, reaching inside to pull out the 'Flames' spell book.

She flipped through the pages, stopping at what Johan presumed to be the actual, instructional part of the book. She held it in her left hand, her right hand held out, palm outstretched.

Immediately, Johan could tell something was wrong; namely, there was no fire, no Magicka, pooling in her palm. It was how all Destruction spells—if not all spells in general—started, after all. Gather the element, then give it shape—or don't, as is the case with the novice-type spells. But he didn't say anything. He may not have known Louise for all that long, but he recognized a proud, stubborn soul when he saw one. He knew, from a great deal of personal experience, that it was better to wait until they broke down and asked for help or exhausted themselves so far that they wouldn't have a choice but to listen.

He didn't expect her to keep up her futile efforts for an hour, however.

It was equal parts hilarious, and impressive.

It was only after her eyes started to tear that Johan stepped in.

"Louise—"

"What?!" she snapped, face flush with both rage and shame.

Johan held his hands out in front of him. "You're skipping a very important step. Something that a lot of people miss when they get too eager." A flame burst to life in his hands, "You need to collect the magic, then release it."

Louise scowled, quickly going to the book. Her shoulders then dropped, and a shameful frown bloomed across her face, "I-I don't—"

"It's alright," he gently assured her, "It's the most common mistake one can make. Stars above, I've made far worse." He shook his head, "Try again. But this time, pool the energy in your palm before you try and shoot it out."

Louise took a steadying breath, nodding at his words. Once more she held her hand out, but this time it was positioned as if she was holding something, not flat and forward.

"Keep your eyes open," he added. It didn't change how the spell actually worked but keeping one's eyes closed in 'concentration' was a surefire way to get yourself killed.

Her eyes snapped open from their previously closed state, narrowing as she focused on her open palm. After a while, her palm started to shake, but she still kept at it, even as she grit her teeth, face and neck flushing with effort.

Until, finally, a flame came to life within her palm.

Johan nodded his approval, "Very good!"

But Louise just frowned, "It's…so small," she said disappointedly.

Indeed, the flame was no bigger than a candle's. But it was a good start nonetheless. And he told her as such.

"I realize that," Louise said, "I'd just thought that, given how I am with a wand…"

"And I already told you. The magic of my homeland is more precise than that."

She was about to reply, when the flame on her palm died. His student's eyes widened in shock, "Wha—I didn't do that!"

"Oh, well you just ran out of Magicka," at her bewildered expression, he continued, "Your first attempts used up Magicka as well, they were just, well, failed attempts that didn't show anything."

Louise shook her head, "Not that…I don't feel fatigued," she said in amazement.

Johan frowned, of course she wasn't fatigued, why would she—and then he remembered. Another quirk of this world's magic. It was tied to one's stamina. How wasteful.

But that did raise some questions. Questions that he would have to seek on his own time, however. Wouldn't do to bother his student with his own personal studies. He grimaced as he recalled his very, very brief tutelage under the Synod. What a waste of time. And money.

"Master Johan?"

The man blinked, "Hmm? Ah! Apologies, I was merely…thinking."

Before she could further question him, he snapped his fingers, a small blue vial dropping into his palm. "Drink this," he said, holding the bottle out.

"Umm…what's this?" Louise asked as she grabbed the bottle, turning it over in her hands.

"A Magicka potion. Expedites the restoration process, refills your reserves."

Louise eyed the potion suspiciously, sniffing it after uncorking it. "It smells…sterile. What's in it?"

"You'll find out when we begin Alchemy."

Louise frowned at the answer, but drank the potion nonetheless. She gagged lightly, "It tastes like stale wine!"

"An unfortunate byproduct of effectiveness."

Her face pinched, and she smacked her lips, "How do I even know that it worked?"

"You'll gain a greater feeling over your Magicka reserves as you practice," Johan gestured towards her, "for now, you'll have to trust me."

Louise's face relaxed into a neutral expression, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Now," Johan rubbed his hands together, "Let's work on that spell."

**A/N: Ended up splitting this up into two chapters. The next half will be out…sometime. I hope I wrote electrolysis right—been a few years since I've done it myself. And on the topic of magic—I'm just going off of reddit, in-universe sources, and my own judgment. With any luck, it makes sense to the rest of you. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Trial by Fire

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"Don't look so down, it was very good for your first attempt."

"Don't mock me!" Louise shouted, "That was terrible!" She'd practiced for  _hours_  but the flame barely grew bigger than the palm of her hand!

"Louise," her master began, only to trail off under her heated gaze. "…Okay fine, it was pretty bad," he said with a small chuckle. Louise ground her teeth together. "But it just means that your improvement shall be all the more noticeable!"

"And how do I 'improve'?" she asked.

Johan shrugged, "Practice."

" _Yes, practice a spell I'm terrible at. Like I've never tried that before_ ," Louise internally groused. She then sighed, "…Is there nothing else?"

Johan paused at that—so suddenly that Louise almost slammed into his back. "There are enchantments that can enhance your magical ability. But I don't think we'll get to the point where you  _vitally_  need such things." He looked over his shoulder, cocking a brow, "…In my youth, I spent much of my time in combat. It's no substitute for actual study, but the 'do-or-die' aspect of it is certainly a good motivator."

Louise looked down at her hands. 'Do-or-die', huh?

She then sniffed, stowing the thought away. "What are we doing out here again?" she suddenly asked.

Johan's brow grew more pronounced, "Were you not paying attention?"

Louise rolled her eyes, "You said we were looking for animals—Founder knows why," she added under her breath, "but there's nothing here!"

Johan groaned at that, "I said we are  _tracking_  animals."

"Well what's the difference?"

Her master said nothing, only continuing forward. He stopped in the middle of a small clearing, nodding. "This will do," he mumbled into his beard. Before Louise could question him, he turned, gesturing around them. "What do you see?" he asked.

Louise scanned their surroundings. "…Trees…grass," she drawled.

Johan sent her a deadpan stare, "Why don't you come a little closer?"

Louise huffed, stomping forward.

_SQUELCH_

Louise froze when her left foot sunk into the ground, something cold and slimy seeping into her shoe. Trembling, she looked down. There was her foot. Sunk in the mud. She stared at it for a moment. Then two. And on the third, she shrieked.

"AIIIIEEE! GET IT OFF!" she dropped backward, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do, as the mud on her foot flew upwards, splashing onto her face. Into her mouth. She hacked and coughed, clawing at her mouth in what she prayed was not a futile attempt to wipe away the  _foul_  taste of muck.

After she was sure she'd scrubbed her tongue raw, she stopped, chest heaving as her arms flopped to the side, staring up at the sky. Then, her master stepped into view.

He stood over her, craning his head down, face askance, "Are you…alright?"

Louise, breath still heavy, glared up at him, "Why," she gulped, thankful that she couldn't taste  _it_  anymore, "why did you not help me?!"

"Honestly?" Johan straightened, propping an arm up and tapping his cheek, "…bewilderment. I've," he let out a short chuckle, "I've never seen anyone react so violently to a little mud."

Louise glowered at him, before grimacing as she caught sight of her dirty shoe. She sighed; yet another thing that would take  _forever_  to clean. She'd been running into that problem a lot lately.

Johan clicked his tongue, "It's just a bit of mud, mah lahzey. It's completely harmle…well, no, can't really say that, now can I?" he cut himself off, mumbling into his beard.

Louise, not willing to dwell on what could make could make mud harmful, gestured to her shoe, "Do you have a cloth?"

"Do you?"

She shook her head bitterly, prompting her master to move away.

"Wait!" she cried, "You have to—"

"Is the mud seeping into your shoe?"

"Yes!" she sharply replied. Johan merely cocked a brow in reply, his sharp eyes seeming to cut deep into her soul. "…no," she meekly admitted.

He gestured at her, and she slowly rose to her feet. She glared down at her muddied shoe, rapidly flicking her foot back-and-forth to rid it of the mud. All that achieved was getting her pants and other shoe dirty. But she wouldn't complain—she'd already shamed herself more than enough for the day.

With slumped shoulders, she walked over to stand beside her master. She heard him sigh deeply but didn't dare look up at him. She then jolted as he gently clasped his hand on her shoulder. Hesitantly she turned her head up at him, shocked at the concern shining in his eyes.

"Are you well enough to continue?" he asked in a soft voice.

Louise felt a blush creep across her face. Hardly anyone ever spoke to her with such a voice. Cattleya immediately came to mind, but the rest of her family? She could count those very few moments on one hand.

Eventually, she nodded.

Johan hummed, patting her shoulder, "Alright then." He then gestured to the forest floor, "Now, look around. What do you see?"

Louise did as he asked, stepping forward. There were a few shrubs milling the area. Trees. Tall grass. Rather, mostly tall grass. She frowned, peering closer at the thin green blades. A number of them looked…crushed? She stepped back, noting that there seemed to be a pattern in the crushed—no, trampled—grass. Wait...four patterns.

She quickly turned back to Johan. "There were animals here!" she exclaimed.

Her master nodded, "Any insight as to what animals?"

Louise pursed her lips, turning back to the grass. The patches of trampled grass weren't too large, so that ruled out bears and similar creatures=. There were also quite a lot of them, but they weren't wholly similar to one another; rather, there seemed to be two separate sets.

Suddenly, Johan coughed, prompting Louise to turn around. He quickly shifted his eyes to his right. Then again. And again.

Louise followed the movement, furrowing her brow at the shrubbery. She walked forward, crouching before the plants. Her initial thought was that they were just that, plants. But her master was no fool. Obviously, these were important. But she honestly couldn't see how. They were just shrubs. Leafy, green, uneven, broken shrubs. Wait…broken? She leaned in closer. Some of the shrubbery was indeed broken off. She shifted her eyes downward, noting that some of the broken branches were lying in the grass, but not enough to account for all of it.

Then, a thought. "Deer?" she said aloud.

"Hmm," Johan hummed. "is that all?"

Louise turned back to the clearing. She crossed her arms, thinking on everything. But she couldn't piece it all together. Begrudgingly, she admitted as much.

Johan merely smiled, inclining his head, "Very good. Now," he swept his hand out, "allow me to fill in the blanks." He straightened, "You are correct that there were deer here. Two of them, by my count." Louise smiled at that. "But you missed the wolves."

"Wolves?!" Louise cried, whirling around and fearfully drawing her wand.

"None are around," he quickly assuaged her fear, "but yes, wolves did stalk the deer that were grazing here."

Louise hesitantly returned her wand to its holster, "H-How do you know?"

Johan gestured to the trampled grass, "Look at the grass. You no doubt saw that the track patterns are different, correct?" He waited until she nodded an affirmative, "Well, that should have been your first clue. Deer are not particularly social outside their own species. And, though you had no way of knowing this, those are the tracks of animals on the run. Now, why would two different animals run in the same direction?"

"If they are chasing one another," Louise answered.

Johan nodded, "Correct. Now, when you said that the grazing animals were deer, was that a guess?"

Louise frowned at his tone; he obviously knew the answer to that. Still, she answered that it was.

Johan then gestured behind him, "Well, as you've no doubt surmised, there was a way for you to definitively know that the grazing animal was a deer." Louise looked past him, face falling when she saw the splotch of mud she'd stepped in. He walked towards it, quietly gesturing for her to do the same. When they stood just before the mud, he crouched down, pointing at it, "See that print?" he asked.

Louise clenched her fists, crouching down and following his gaze. Her eyes lingered on her shoeprint, but she quickly tore herself away before the shame could rear its ugly head back again. She finally saw what Johan wanted her to see; multiple imprints within the mud. A great many of them overlapped one another, turning it all into an indescribable mess, but thankfully, there were still a few unspoiled marks in the mud. And what strange marks they were. From what she could gather, the imprint was a series of four marks—two pairs of similar shape—put together. The larger pair looked like raindrops, and the smaller pair, just below the first one, seemed like dots.

She gazed up at her master, "These are…deer footprints?"

"Hoofprints," he corrected, "but yes." Briefly, she worried that he would remark that her earlier tantrum had almost destroyed the prints, but to her relief, he just stood up, turning around. "And over there," he pointed to some trees, heading towards them, "is some fur from the wolves that were stalking the deer."

Louise quickly followed, frowning at the brown and grey clumps attatched to the tree stumps. "How do you know that is from wolves?" she asked.

At that, Johan shrugged, "Experience."

She eyed their surroundings nervously once more, "And…you're sure they are no longer around?"

A scoff, "Do you think I'd be so irresponsible as to take you near wild wolves?" Louise blushed as she belatedly realized that, no, he would not. "No, the pair are long gone…hopefully, at any rate."

At that, Louise frowned, partly nervous, partly annoyed, "What do you mean 'hopefully'?

Johan hummed, "Well, wolves live in one of two ways. Either altogether in packs or wander alone." He gestured widely, "Because there are two of them, I suspect that there is a den somewhere that they call home. Although…I it could be an outcast pair."

"What do you mean? How can wolves be outcast?"

Johan sidled her a glance, "They left their pack, what else could it mean?"

"Wolves can do that?" she asked incredulously.

Johan smirked, eyes lighting up in amusement, "Oh…wolves are much more complex creatures than one might think. I believe I have a couple books on the subject."

Louise snorted, "Let's focus on magic for now."

**Line Break**

The pair fell into a comfortable routine come the rest of the week. Louise would wake up before dawn but spend an inordinate amount of time making herself 'presentable'. Johan did his best to assuage her from such folly, but she persisted. Besides, after that first day she didn't tarry long—she looked slightly miserable until they started their first lessons, but he'd warned her often enough.

Louise's martial skills were…developing. It was quickly becoming clear to Johan that she would never become a great warrior—would never master anything larger than a sword, or a small axe—but that was fine. She would survive, and that was enough. She hated the bow with a passion, however. He suspected it to be because of that first time in the shop, which brought a small, guilty smile to his face.

But magic…Well, frankly speaking, she didn't really need all that much help with her homeland's magic—which was great, because he was still trying to get the hang of it himself, in the late hours of the night, and early hours of the day. It was his own research into that type of magic only proved to be more and more perplexing.

As it turned out, he could cast spells with the staves of his homeland. But they were not as powerful as ones he cast from wands he'd stolen from the academy (and all those spells were of similar strength, despite the—wholly unnecessary—stylistic differences between the wands). Not for the first time, he wished he had studied, truly studied, staff-making. He had books on the subject, sure. But he also spent a good amount of time (too much, some might say) with Neloth of House Telvani; a mer so adept at staff-making he once actually did it in his sleep. Ah well, no use complaining about it.

What he could complain about was Louise's magical limitations. Well, that made it sound like she was the problem, which he honestly doubted. Firstly, the girl could not, for the life of her, cast anything less than a triangle-class (he'd classify it as 'adept') spell. He could cast the spells no problem: he could summon a flicker of flame on the tip of a wand: he could summon a gust of wind to send leaves flying into the air: he could form bubbles of water out of thin air. One night, he transmuted a rock from iron, to silver, to gold, to its original form, again and again and again until his eyes grew heavy. But Louise…she just made it all explode.

Loathe as he was to admit even think about it, it had to be something about her lineage. All the books—which he needed to return, since they had all been copied. Well, all but one…but he didn't have the time to focus on that—he'd read on the subject of this land's magic put a great amount of stock in how mages traced their bloodline back to the 'Founder'. Strong mages held a great deal of his blood in their veins, it was said. He didn't want that to be the case. When people were strongly linked to a mystical lineage, bad things tended to happen.

But…it would explain why she had such trouble with his brand of magic.

Try as she might, she just could not muster a flame greater than the size of her palm, even though she spent every waking moment of her personal time either stuck in a book or asking for his help as she practiced spells (It broke his heart to see her hold back tears after each failed attempt).

If there was some mythical aspect to her powers…that would change things. If she was the culmination of years and years of…breeding (made him dirty just to even think about it) then whatever higher power that led to that would be…possessive over her. Would probably take offense at someone teaching her foreign magic that might supplant their own. Who knows, they might even make a personal appearance.

Not that that would stop him. He was Johan Stormcrown. Listener, Harbinger, Arch-Mage, Nightingale, and so much more. But above all else, he was  ** _DOVAHKIIN_**. Dragonborn. He did not bow to some unseen god. He forged his own fate. Reshaped the fates of others. He  _would_  teach Louise to cast his homeland's magic!

And if anyone, or anything, had a problem with that, they would quickly learn their place.

**Line Break**

Louise was a failure. Perhaps not as much as she'd originally believed, but a failure all the same.

A week. An entire week, and she still have not made any true progress with wandless magic!

Magic with a wand? Easy. Master Johan seemed annoyed that she couldn't cast anything less than a triangle-class spell, but she honestly doubted she'd ever need to. Even his concern over her stamina was unnecessary—it took at least a dozen square-class spells for her to feel fatigued.

Martial skills? She didn't particularly care for it—and she certainly didn't train outside their allotted time—but Master Johan hadn't complained of late.

Enchanting, Alchemy, other miscellaneous skills? She hadn't had the chance to practice but understood the material well enough.

Wandless magic? Nothing short of travesty.

She couldn't even muster a flame larger than the width of her hand!

After the third day, she'd asked, practically begged, her Master for books pertaining to the basics of 'magicka'. Which turned out to be a mistake, as there were so many new terms and concepts that trying to make sense of it all at once made her head spin.

It was after reading one of these books that she found herself slumped over her desk, massaging her temples. Lifting her head up, she spotted the small portrait of her sister. She sighed, reaching over and running her thumb across the portrait's cheek, like she always did when greatly troubled. Briefly, she marveled at the fact that she hadn't had to do so since entering Johan's tutelage.

She then scowled, pulling her hand away and clenching it into a fist. She could not despair. Would not despair. Johan believed in her—believed in her in a way rivaled only by Cattleya. She had to prove that faith right!

She quickly stood, almost knocking her chair over. She grabbed her satchel, stuffing her notes and every relevant book on Destruction with in it. As she exited her tent, a light shone in her eye. Turning, she saw that it was the glint off of her dagger. She then rolled her eyes; wondering why she let such a thing stop her.

Carefully poking her head out of the tent, she peered around the campgrounds. The sun was still out, but setting, lighting the sky aflame. She could see the silhouette of her master within his tent, hunched over his table. Most likely working on the Enchanting Table he was going on about. He'd meant to set it up earlier, but the moons were out of phase. Or something like that, she hadn't really been paying attention.

After making sure he wasn't about to leave his tent, she nodded, slowly creeping across the grass.  _"I just need_   _some private practice_ ," she internally chanted, carefully keeping an eye on Johan's tent.

_CLINK_

Louise froze. She waited to hear her master's voice, to ask what she was doing. Only, it didn't come. She waited for another moment, but all she heard were her panicked breaths, and the wind in the trees.

Slowly, she turned around, towards the source of the noise, shoulders slumping when she found it. The enchanted Commoner blade. It had fallen off the table, now lying on the grass. She allowed herself a small chuckle before returning to her previous task.

She entered the same clearing they always practiced magic in. Looking around, she could see the remains of results of her practice with wand magic. Mounds of dirt, scorched grass, wet trees, cut shrubbery. She let the glee of these results overtake her; no longer would she haunted by the name 'Zero'.

_CRACK_

She froze for the second time that day. Gulping, she turned towards the sound, "Master Johan?" she called out.

Two yellow pinpricks, hidden in the shade, and a bark were her answer.

Louise paled. The wolves.

Slowly, the beast stalked forward, into the light. A massive beast with grey fur; but it looked skinnier than should be healthy. Its face was set in a snarl, lips quivering, mouth frothing. It crouched down, gaze never straying from her, barking incessantly. Then, it lunged!

Louise shrieked, dropping to the ground and rolling to the side, letting to wolf soar past her. As she shot up, she pulled her wand from its holster, aiming at the beast as it landed.

That's when the second one roared, clamping its jaw around her arm.

Louise gasped, but no further sound burst from her lips. The beast tugged downward, pulling her to the ground and knocking her wand out of her grasp.

Louise's eyes blurred with tears as the first wolf rushed forward.  _"I'm going to die_ ," she realized. Then, her master's words came to mind.

" _I spent much of my time in combat. It's no substitute for actual study, but the 'do-or-die' aspect of it is certainly a good motivator."_

'Do-or-die'. Well, she was going to die, might as well do something.

Shakily, she lifted her free, undamaged hand, summoning Magicka, time seeming to slow down. Blood that wasn't gushing out her arm was roaring in her ears. The wolf was slowly but surely making its way towards her, eyes alight, teeth bared. She felt the fire form on her open palm, warming her rapidly cooling body. She focused all her might on her palm, the magic held within. With short breath, and a weak, pain-addled mind, she urged the flame forward. Pushed it, shoved it with all her power.

The wolf was upon her now. It opened its maw, aiming for her throat, only to fall back, yelping as a stream of fire crashed against its belly. Its kin yelped as well, releasing her arm and jumping backward. Louise could not help but cry out as her gnawed arm fell to the forest floor, further staining the grass. The added pain also had the adverse effect of causing her other arm to spasm, cutting off the magical fire.

The first wolf crashed to the ground, writhing as it tried to snuff out the flames licking at its pelt. Its kin trotted up to it, barking but otherwise keeping away. Briefly, Louise hoped that the fire would spread, encompassing the second wolf as well. But, it was not meant to be; for the first wolf succeeded in killing the fire.

It rose on unsteady, smoking legs, snapping its jaw at its kin when it poked at it with its snout. Just as Louise was beginning to hope that the two would be too shaken to want to finish her off, the burnt wolf trained its—stunningly hateful—gaze on her. It growled, stalking forward once more. Only for a purple, translucent arrow to sink into its skull.

The second wolf jerked back, only to cry out and fall over as a similar arrow pierced its neck.

Before Louise could further marvel at what had just happened—or black out, given the spots in her vision—a warmth overtook her. Looking down at her body revealed familiar, if grander, streams of golden light circling her body.

"Louise!" she whirled around, flinching back as her master slid down beside her, tossing aside a purple, ethereal bow. He grabbed her shoulders, "What in Oblivion were you thinking?!" he roared, eyes alight with fury, worry, and relief.

Louise stared up at his eyes, words dying in her throat. Dying…she'd almost died…

"Louise, answer me!"

She almost died.

"Louise!"

She almost died.

"Loui—!" he cut off when she crashed into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his body. She didn't even try to stop the tears falling from her face.

Through her own sobs, she heard him sigh, moving his hands from her shoulders to wrap her in a gentler hug. "Shh, shh," he whispered soothingly, caressing her head, "it's alright. You are safe."

**A/N: This one was practically done, so it's coming a little sooner than most of my stuff. Things will start really to pick up soon. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Convalescence

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Louise hissed, "That hurt!"

Her Master snorted, "That wolf practically ground your arm to dust," he punctuated the word by tightly tying off the bandage on her arm, "I'd be worried if you  _didn't_  feel pain after that. Now, keep still. Need to put this in a sling."

Louise winced as her swaddled her arm in grey cloth, "Can't you just heal it all with magic, it still hurts!"

"Like I said, that wolf nearly  _crushed_  your arm. Magic can do a lot, but it can't completely reform bone with no consequence." He pursed his lips, "Fair warning; expect a scar."

Louise groaned—just what she needed; a permanent reminder of near-death experience. Of her failure.

"Hey, don't look so down," he gently patted her knee, "You're alive! And, you cast your first wandless spell!"

Louise smiled at that, before frowning, "Wait, you saw that?" At his nod, her face morphed into a thoughtful frown, "Hold on…how did you find me so fast. I was sure I snuck away beneath your notice."

Johan's face flushed, and he looked at her with a mixture of respect and annoyance, "A mark of shame upon my skills; you can be surprisingly quiet when you want to be," now Louise felt heat creep upon her face, "But to answer the unanswered the question, if I hadn't started moving until after you screamed…I might have been too late."

"Then…what—"

"Ooh! Is that my cue?"

Louise jolted, whirling around, "Who in blazes—!"

"Right on the table, little lady!" Louise turned to the voice, frowning when she only saw the Commoner blade. "Oh, come on!" the blade shifted out of its scabbard, it's metal cross guard flapping wildly, "You're staring right at me!"

"Gah!" Louise shrieked, jumping backwards. "The blade can speak!"

"I can also sing!"

"Why can the blade speak?!"

"That's actually an interesting question," Master Johan calmly interjected, "For I can safely say that I have never seen, heard, or even read of talking weaponry."

"What can I say," the blade spoke with a smug— _smug_!—tone, "I'm one of a kind…at least, I think I am."

Louise shook her head, rubbing her temples with her uninjured hand, "This is insane."

"What's insane, little lady," the blade said, "is that you tried to sneak away while wolves were stomping around."

"Yes, why would you do such an 'insane' thing?" her master asked with a cocked brow.

Louise looked down at her feet, fidgeting slightly, "I just…" she trailed off.

"Just what?"

"Just…wanted to try and figure things out on my own; didn't want to bother you after all my f-f-f," she swallowed, "failures."

Johan groaned, clicking his tongue, "Oh, Louise," he gently placed his hand upon her shoulder, "There is no shame in failure." She truly doubted that, but knew better than to say anything, "Besides, I am here to  _help_  you. But I can't do that if you don't trust me to do so."

Louise sunk in on herself, shame coursing through her entire being. "I realize that, now…but, it's just—"

"Louise," Johan gently cut her off, "You don't have to explain yourself to me; I know about your past at," his lips curved down into a disgusted frown, "the Academy."

Louise couldn't stop the small smile that crept upon her face at the reminder of her master's disdain for the Tristain Academy of Magic. A part of her argued that she should defend her homeland's pride-and-joy. The rest of her beat that part to the ground with the fact that the two years she spent at the Academy were absolutely horrible.

"…understand what you were thinking," Louise quickly returned to reality, latching onto her master's voice, "but please, know that I  _want_  to help you."

Louise nodded slowly, "I…I know. And I am sorry, for sneaking away as I did."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he said with a soft smile, "But…I'm afraid that we will hold off on magical study; at least until your arm is fully better."

"What, why?!" she asked indignantly.

"You mean, other than the fact that your wand-arm was almost torn to shreds?"

Louise glowered at the blade, "I was not speaking to you, you hunk of metal!"

"And yet, I answered all the same!"

"Enough," Johan sternly stated. "This is not the time for petty arguments. But yes, it is to give your arm a chance to heal. And to teach you other skills," she frowned, prompting him to say, "I notice your dagger is nowhere to be seen."

Louise blushed, averting her gaze, "I…left it, behind" she answered truthfully, bashfully, "I didn't think I'd need it."

"Well," Johan nodded, "I appreciate your candor. But from now own, unless you are sleeping, I want you to keep your dagger on your person at all times. Actually…keep it under your pillow when you rest."

Louise wanted to protest; she left the thing behind  _because_  she didn't want it anywhere near her. But, she also knew better than to question Johan, especially in light of…she shuddered lightly, not wanting to think about it. She eventually nodded.

Johan grunted, "Now, I think it'd be best if you washed up. Do you think you can manage on your own?"

Louise flushed for an entirely different reason, "I do believe I can manage that!"

"Like you believed you could handle being on your own to practice spells?"

Louise hissed, turning to face the blade, "Shut up!"

"Make me," it snarked.

Louise shot to her feet, but Johan's hand gently wrapped around her shoulder kept her in place, "I'll get a tub for you."

Louise blinked, what could that mean?

Her answer came when her Master flicked his wrist, portal to Oblivion opening up in front of them. "Get me a copper tub, one of the larger ones," he said into the void.

"I live to serve," came the oily voice of his personal demon…that was still terrifying to think about. A large, copper tub was then pushed out the portal. "Anything else?"

Her master opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, tilting his head to the side. He grunted, "Send the books back, save for the special one." A quick pause, after which he smiled mischievously, reaching into his robes and pulling out a folded piece of paper and tossing it through the portal, "And leave this note."

"As you command," the demon said, portal vanishing from sight.

Louise eyed Johan, "What books?"

He waved an arm, walking towards the tub, "Just some…overdue items from a library."

Before Louise could further question him, he raised an arm to the tub. His hand gained an orange glow, and when he flicked his wrist up, the tub glowed the same color, lifting a few feet into the air.

The blade whistled—whistled!—and said, "I've seen some impressive stuff in my time, but wandless magic," it chuckled, "man…he'd definitely be jealous."

"Hmm?" Johan grunted, idly flicking his free hand, a short, circular stone wall rising up beneath the tub, "Who'd be jealous?"

A pause. "…I don't remember," the blade said in a solemn voice, "I…think he was…a lover?"

"You had a lover?!" Louise incredulously blurted out.

"Not me. My…first wielder? I, I can't, I really can't remember," his voice grew so soft, so inward, Louise almost felt sorry for the thing.

"Hmm," Johan turned to the blade, idly lightning a fire within the stone circle, and dropping the tub atop it, "I know some meditation techniques that might help unclutter your mind."

"Oh, well thanks. But I think you should focus on the little lady there; she needs a lot more help than I do!" he said with a laugh.

Louise grit her teeth, "You insufferable little knife!" She would have said more, but a steady trickle of liquid caught her attention. She turned, jaw slightly dropping as she saw her Master standing over the copper tub, a clashing pair fire and ice spell creating a steady stream of water.

"A bath!" she exclaimed.

Johan looked over his shoulder, smiling at her, "Figured it'd be easier on the arm."

Louise sniffed, quickly wiping away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "T-Thank you!"

Johan simple nodded and returned his focus towards filling the tub. After doing so, he moved towards the blade, "What say we give Louise some privacy…" he chuckled, "Apologies, I never asked for your name."

"Eh, you were distracted," she could swear it was staring at her, "Thankfully, I can at least remember my own name." He continued in a jovial tone, "Derflinger, at your service!"

**Line Break**

Louise fell back on her bed with a wide, bright smile. She then gasped, wincing as she cradled her injured arm. As she did so, a flash of dull pink caught her eye, and her face further fell as she pulled her hair out in front of her.

Try as she might, she just couldn't get her hair cleaned. She'd almost used up the rest of her shampoo, but even then, her hair was still stained by blood and mud.

She sighed, letting her hair fall back down. Her hair, her best feature, many had said—but only one or two said so without a mocking tone—was now a shadow of its former self.

Louise sniffed, but she wouldn't cry. She was done crying. Instead, she rose to her feet, heading outside. She did pause, however, when lanternlight glinted off her dagger. She stared at it for a moment, before clenching her fist, taking a deep breath.

She strode over to the weapon, picking it up and staring at it. A dull thing; no jewels, no gold or silver, just a steel blade and a brown leather hilt. It took a bit to sheathe it (and the sheathe was even more dull than the dagger itself) and clip it to her belt with only one good arm. But, she did so, confidently exiting her tent when done.

She stopped just in front of her master's tent. Based on the silhouettes, he was conversing with the blade. She coughed into her good hand, "Master Johan," she called.

The old foreigner paused, his silhouette turning towards her, "Yes, mah lahzey?"

It was only then that Louise paused. Could she really do this? She looked down at her bandaged limb, bolstering her resolve. She stood a little straighter, "I would like to cut my hair."

The shadows danced in the lanternlight, but her master was otherwise still. Eventually, he said, "…Are you sure?"

"Yes," she answered. She pursed her lips, "Now, if it's not too much trouble."

At that, he poked his head outside the tent, "Now?"

She nodded, "I," she gulped, "I don't want to lose my nerve."

He straightened, cupping his chin, "I am not a stylist," he said.

Louise nodded once more, "I know. I'd do it myself, but," she felt her cheeks heat up, and she made a point to not call attention to her injured arm.

Johan frowned sympathetically, "Yes, yes, of course. Well," he stepped aside, gesturing to his tent, "By all means…"

Louise thanked him, entering his tent. She paused when she passed the threshold; she'd never been in it before. It was sparingly decorated, more so than her own, but there were some personal touches. His grey robes were hanging off a rack in the corner, and his desk was littered with papers, books,  _the blade_ —which she deftly ignored, even when it called out to her—and…wands? Yes, multiple wands.

She frowned, turning to Johan, who was setting up a spot to cut her hair. "Why do you have so many wands?" she asked.

He paused, very, very slightly, before saying, "Never hurts to have a back-up."

She turned back to the desk, brow furrowed, "But so many?"

"I like having back-ups for my back-ups."

Louise grunted, but let the matter go. It was then that she noticed a painting hanging on the wall of the tent, just aside the foot of his cot. It wasn't too large, a little shorter than her forearm on either end, but it was beautiful, vibrant. It was a landscape; a large, imposing mountain in the distance, with a river leading from it, ending at the foreground of the painting. The sun shone in the right corner, high in the sky and framed by the clouds. On the left of the river, a wide, expansive forest, with trees that rose above the scope of the portrait. To the right, a field of flowers, all different shapes, and every color under the sun.

She jolted as her master gently clapped her shoulder, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Louise nodded minutely, "D-Did you paint this?"

Johan laughed softly, "No, no. I'm more skilled with ink and a quill than paint and a brush."

"You've written books?"

"Yes. And a few songs."

"Come again," both she and the blade flatly said.

"It's true," he said with a wide smile. "Granted, none of them were very popular," he added with a slight blush.

"Ooh, now I've  _got_  to hear them!" the blade bubbled excitedly.

As her master waved it off, she asked, "Who did paint it?"

At that, his good mood quieted a bit. He left her side, bringing a hand up to stroke the painting, "A…a good friend," he whispered.

Louise stayed silent as her master stared at the painting, gently stroking it. And then, he drew his hand back, clearing his throat, "Take a seat," he said.

Louise did so, taking a moment to fix-up her hair. She heard the metallic whine of a portal to Oblivion opening up behind her, "Get me a small pair of shears, and a soft brush." His demon grunted, but completed the task quickly enough, given the fact that he closed the portal not seconds later.

She heard him come to a stop behind her. "Are you sure about this?" Louise nodded resolutely. "Very well. Keep still."

**Line Break**

"Now that everyone's here, I believe we can begin."

" _Bout time_ ," Matilda internally groused, " _You've only had to push this back four days because the freaking Cardinal was too busy touring the countryside._ "

"Mademoiselle Longueville are you well?'"

Matilda jerked her head, blinking dumbly, "Oh," she smiled sweetly at Colbert,

"I'm fine, Professor!"

He frowned sympathetically, gently patting her hand, "With any luck, this will all be over soon."

Matilda resisted the urge roll her eyes. Honestly, Colbert wasn't even all that bad; certainly, better than that oaf of a headmaster. In another life, they might have even been friends. But that life would never come to pass, and she found him a tad annoying right now.

Matilda took a moment to look around the room at the other occupants of the round table she sat at. Most of them were military types; pampered brats that never had to actually work for something. There were, obviously, Colbert (the most reliable teacher at the Academy by far, though why he was here was beyond her) right beside her, and Headmaster Osmund a couple seats down from him. That damn mouse was perched on his shoulder, and thankfully (for them) it hadn't tried to look up the women's skirts. Of course, the only other woman in the room was Duchess Valliere (directly across from Osmund), and that woman was colder than a fish.

A little bit off to her left, Francis was finishing up a conversation with the representative for both the Royal Family and the Church, Cardinal Mazarin (why they had him lumped into two representative roles was beyond her). The traitorous Griffon Knight caught her gaze and sent her a sly smirk. She gave a slight sneer in response, before turning away. Smarmy prick. He always did that, giving off slight actions, letting slip some words, that just might have given away his—and her—true allegiance. A stupid, dangerous game. If he wasn't so important, she would have buried his body in a ditch.

When Duchess Vallière stood, she stopped her observations, grabbing a quill and the paper before her to take notes, as was her official job at the moment.

"Cardinal Mazarin, Generals" she began, "Thank you for  _finally_  making it here," the holy man narrowed his eyes (the 'military men' all looked away nervously) but said nothing. Matilda held back a smirk, say what you will about the Duchess—and there was  _a lot_  to be said—she wasn't afraid to call out bullshit when she smelt it.

"Headmaster Osmund," she turned a critical eye to the elderly pervert, "Would you care to inform the room of your stupendous folly?"

The old man flinched, but stood nonetheless, clearing his throat. "A little over a week ago, the Academy's library was robbed. The perpetrator—who has still yet to be identified—blew up the northern wall of the library, from the outside. Within minutes the thief…they stole every book and bookcase from the library."

There was a round of gasps from those that weren't aware. "Impossible!" a blonde man in military finery shouted, "no one could possibly work that fast!"

Colbert spoke up, "I assure you, General Gramont," ah, that would explain the fact that his shirt was slightly open, "I spent days combing over the entire Academy. The stolen items were not hidden away anywhere; they are well and truly gone."

Faces paled around the room. "W-Who could do such a thing?"

"I have a better question," an obnoxious voice—Count Mott, she recalled—cut the man off, "why the hell should we care?" When several glares were sent his way, he scowled, slamming his fist against the table, "Oh, don't give me those looks! Yes, it's a 'tragedy'," he mocked, "but what matter is it to someone like me—with a very important job that I've been torn away from," Matilda almost snorted, he didn't even do his own job, "that a bunch of brats won't be able to read for the next few months. Now, if someone was injured…"

Matilda tightened her fist, almost crushing the quill held within it. She'd only seen Tiffania a couple times since she was almost crushed by a statue rocked by the explosion, but her anger hadn't lessened one bit. When she found that son of a bitch…

"…artifact entrusted to Tristain by the Church," Matilda shook her head, returning to the conversation at hand. "The," Osmund swallowed, "The Founder's Spell Book."

Everyone (Matilda included) but the Duchess and Cardinal gasped, and then everyone (barring Matilda) started to shout over each other. She took a quick peek at Francis, making note of his flabbergasted expression. Good, he hadn't known either.

Inwardly, she was seething, almost as much as when she thought about how Tiffania almost died. A Holy Artifact, sitting in the goddamn library?! How many sleepless nights had she spent devising and revising plans to break into the Vault, when an even bigger score was just ripe for the taking?!

"Wait!" Francis shouted above the rest, slamming his hands against the table, "Why did you wait so long to reveal this information, Duchess?" He swept his arm in front of him, "If you had told me about this when I'd first arrived, I and at least half of my Griffon Knights could have been leading the search for the Book instead of twiddling our thumbs! Hell, we might have even found it by now!"

The Duchess inclined her head, "I agree, Viscount." She levelled an icy glare at the Cardinal, "Holy Sir," she said in an aggravated tone, "Might you inform the room why we had to wait so long?"

The Cardinal, to his credit, calmly rose to his feet. "The Pope decided that it would be best if the theft, the true theft, were kept silent. Especially since no one has claimed credit for the act."

Yes, that was the most perplexing bit, wasn't it? Matilda had searched out her old contacts, and they all said the same thing; no one was  _doing_  anything with the stolen books. Nothing through the Black Market, no drunken boasts in a tavern, no ransoms. Nothing. It wasalmost like—and she couldn't believe she was even entertaining the thought—they'd stolen the books just for the sake of having them. But who would bother doing that?

The rest of the conversation quickly grew too boring for Matilda's taste; everyone blaming everyone else, crying out for what to do. It went on for about three hours, after which a bunch of maids came in with food and drink.

Following that, men did as men do. It disgusted Matilda, but at least no one had tried anything  _too_  obscene—or with her. Though, one of the maids—a young one, with dark hair framing her head—looked close to tears as Count Mott started to converse with a grim-faced Osmund.

Just then, a pair of Academy guards burst into the room.

"Impudent whelps!" someone cried, "Do you not—"

But the older of the pair barreled through. "The books are back!" he cried.

The room stilled. Matilda's breaths grew heavy. Again?! Little more than a week, and that  _bastard_  had snuck into the Academy—more guarded than ever—and  _returned_  the loot?! And all without her knowledge?!

This time, her quill did break in her grip.

"A-All of them?" she heard Osmund whisper.

The older guard gulped, "Not…Leo, show 'em."

The younger guard—Leo—shook like a leaf but strode towards the Headmaster. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a crisply folded note. Osmund's face paled.

"Well," someone snapped, "what does it say?"

"I-I-It says," he croaked:

'To whom it may concern,

I'm done with these.

Sincerely,

Nightingale.

P.S: I'm keeping the blank book. Seems important.'

Matilda had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing. Or screaming. It was a tough call.

**A/N: I fully believe that Derflinger only treated Louise and others with respect because Saito (his 'owner') deferred to her and was generally a passive guy. But Saito isn't around so…Derf don't care. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Dirty Business

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"Over here!"

Siesta didn't pause to check how far away the men chasing her were. All she knew was that if she was caught, she'd be dead, or worse.

She started to sob; she'd tried, really truly tried. The…job, the pay, was a balm in light of her father's recent injuries. But she just…couldn't debase herself like that. She'd prayed to the Founder that the weeks she'd spent apart from Count Mott at his estate could prepare her for the things he wanted to do. But the moment he pulled her body flush against his, his wine-filled breath wafting in her nose, hands roaming down and up her legs; she shuddered just thinking about it. From there, it was shockingly easy to grab a nearby vase and slam it against his head. It was surprisingly also easy to leave the estate. But she wasn't dumb enough—despite what some might think—to believe she'd get away scot-free.

She'd just hoped she'd get more than an hour head start.

_CRA-BOOM_

Siesta flinched, jerking her head up at the dark sheet of gray overhead. No, no, no, no! Not rain! But even as she pleaded and begged to an increasingly indifferent god, rain started to fall. She started to run once more, uncaring of the liquid obstructing her vision; her best hope was to try and find a cave or tall enough tree to hide in before the dirt turned to mud. So, all she could do was run.

**Line Break**

"Master, can we please go back to the camp?" Her master merely chuckled; that soft, mocking sound that told her all she needed to know. "But it's raining!" she pleaded.

"Well, it's a good thing you've got a hood."

"Silence, blade!" she hissed.

Derflinger chortled, cross guard flapping up-and-down wildly. Louise ignored the blade and stared at her master. When thunder boomed overhead, she gestured dramatically to the sky.

He let out another infuriating chuckle, "There's no lightning, and the downpour isn't too heavy; we're staying." At her frown, he added, "Besides, if you can hit a target at fifty yards in the rain, you'll hit it at fifty yards in clear weather." He then hummed, stroking his beard, "Though, in that case I need to find you a snowstorm, then you can  _really_  call yourself an expert markswoman."

Louise paled, "Rain is fine!"

"Then go on!" Johan said with a laugh.

Louise grumbled beneath her breath, but turned back to the targets nonetheless. She instinctually swept her hair back, only to pause and scoff as she recalled its much shorter length. Despite Master Johan's warnings, he was a decent hair stylist. Of course, she'd be a laughing stock back at the Academy; it looked like the kind of hair Commoner's wore, with her short bangs, uncovered ears, and cut very close to the back of her head. It really wasn't all that bad; but compared to her previous hairstyle, it was severely lacking. But, it was functional.

She bent down, grabbing her bow and pulling her hood over her head. With a heavy sigh, she entered the stance he'd drilled into her; non-dominant hand on the handle, staring sideways at the target, back straight, feet a little less than shoulder-width apart. She grabbed an arrow from the quiver strapped on her hip, nocking it slowly.

It irritated her that the storm didn't grow heavy; despite the thunder overhead, the rain didn't exceed a light drizzle. Thus, she was left no choice but to practice with the one weapon she despised above the rest.

She sucked in a breath, drawing the arrow back. She placed her thumb along the end of the shaft to keep it steady as she aimed for her target; the furthest one directly in front of her. Her arms trembled slightly at the strain, but she kept them steady.

Steady.

Release.

The arrow flew through the air, and given the way it curved to the left, she could already tell she messed up her shot. Her irritation grew as the arrow just barely impacted the edge of the target.

"Least you hit it this time!"

"Ignore him," her Master stated as Louise drew another arrow, "and remember the wind."

A retort crawled its way up her throat; but she stifled it, focusing on lining up her next shot. She didn't hit the center this time either, but she was further inside. Her mood lifted as, with each shot, she grew closer and closer to the center. At least until her twelfth shot, which veered so far to the left that it completely missed, taking her good mood along with it.

The clearing was silent save for the constant pitter-patter of the rain. Until eventually, her Master said, "Do you know what you did wrong?"

"I missed." That drew a guffaw from the blade.

"You grew over-confident," Johan corrected. "Released too quickly after the draw."

"I understand," she said, turning around and bowing her head.

"I'm sure you do. Now, act on it!" her master intoned.

Louise nodded resolutely and turned back to the target. She took a moment to let her arms rest before bringing her bow back up and drawing another arrow.

At least, she would have, were it not for the piercing shriek that echoed over the rain.

Before Louise could properly register it, she found herself shoved backwards, her bow falling to the ground as the blade was shoved into her grasp. "Stay behind me," her master murmured lowly.

Louise opened her mouth to speak, but Derflinger spoke above her. "Best not question him now, little lady," he whispered urgently. So, she didn't.

The scream came again, and Johan stepped back, his right arm hovering protectively before Louise, some unknown spell crackling within his palm. Then, another shriek, louder, closer than before. Louise followed the sound, blinking as a figure clad in a grey cloak broke through some brush at the top of the hill. They yelped, flailing their arms in an attempt to keep from falling over. They failed, however, and tumbled down the hill in a series of grunts and shrieks, falling before Louise and Johan with a  _thud_.

The figure trembled, struggling to lift itself up. When it did so, Louise was surprised to see a young girl's face stare up at them, fear and alarm shining in her pale-blue eyes. She looked oddly familiar, though from where, Louise could not place.

The girl tried to rise further, only to gasp, falling over and clutching her left foot. Johan grunted, "Stay close," and slowly moved forward.

The woman whipped her head back up at their approach, and Louise was unsure if the wetness clinging to her cheeks were tears or raindrops.

"Easy, easy," her master said in a soothing voice, "we mean you no harm." The girl's terrified gaze turned hopeful. But only for a moment, for those same eyes wavered, before shutting closed as she fell in a heap.

Johan surged forward, Louise close behind. He bent down, turning the girl over. He paused, "That's…an interesting wardrobe."

Louise looked over his shoulder, frowning in disgust at the girl's proactive, skin-revealing outfit. " _Some sort of harlot,_ " she thought derisively.

"Check her foot," came her master's abrupt command. She turned back to see him press his fingers against the girl's neck. "Now!" he shouted when Louise didn't move.

Louise quickly and carefully moved to her commanded spot. She lifted the girl's cloak—which she noted was far too big for her frame—frowning as she observed the limb. "I, uh, I don't see anything."

"No blood, no bone?"

Louise groaned queasily but answered 'no'.

"Okay. Can't be too bad, then."

"She's gotta be over here!"

Louise whirled around towards the top of the hill, squinting her eyes to find the source of the new voice, only seeing what seemed to be torchlight at the top of the hill the woman fell from.

_VRRRMM_

Louise turned back around at the sound of a portal to Oblivion opening, jerking back as a translucent man stepped through the purple void. Johan stood, gesturing to the unconscious girl, "Grab her, carefully," he commanded. The…shade did so, mist curling around its form as it bent down and held the girl in both hands.

Louise furrowed her brow, "Wha—"

"This is Arniel—well, his shade," her master preemptively said, "and you two are going to go hide behind that brush over there," he gestured to his left.

"Bu—"

"I think she went down this hill!"

"Now!" Johan hissed, rising to his feet, "and take Derflinger with you!" Louise did so as quickly as she could, ducking low to hide her figure in the brush. She jolted when Arniel silently did the same right beside her.

"Uh…hey there," the blade said hesitantly.

Arniel, the girl still held in his grasp, slowly did turned to face them. Louise shivered at his dead, see-through gaze.

"Greetings, gentlemen!" Louise turned back to Johan—who'd summoned a plain-looking oak staff and a covered basket into his hands—blinking at the three men slowly but surely making their way down the hill. "How can I assist you?"

The men all wore the same, drab, red-and-white uniform. One of them—the eldest by far, with bits of gray peppered in his brown locks—wielded a spear, and the other two simple steel swords. The spear-wielder found the ground first, and after taking a moment to steady himself, glared at Johan. "We're looking for a girl," he barked.

Her master chuckled, despite the rough looks the men sent his way. "Maybe times have changed," he japed, "but I believe women respond better to flowers than steel."

The younger two scowled deeply, but the eldest man smirked along with Johan, "Aye, aye. Have you seen her? Fair skin, dark hair, pale-blue eyes?"

Johan hummed, leaning against his staff, "Yes."

Louise dropped her jaw in shock, and given the soft clank of metal beneath her, Derflinger did his very best equivalent.

"She fell down just before me," Johan continued. "Before I could see if she was alright, however, she rose to her feet and ran off in…that direction," he said, gesturing to his right.

The three men exchanged looks, before nodding. The elder man nodded, "I see. Thank you." He swept a hand out, "Quickly men, after her!"

"If I may," Johan asked, keeping the men in place, "Why are you chasing after her? What crime has she committed that warrants three armed men chase her in the middle of a storm—light it may be?"

The elder man hesitated slightly, but the younger man on his left said, "Dumb girl ran off just as she was about to do her damn job!"

Johan tilted his head, "And what job is that?"

"Being Count Mott's mis—maid! Personal maid," the other young man hastily corrected.

Louise let out a small sigh; the situation was far less dire than previously thought. She turned to look at the unconscious woman (deftly ignoring the blue-ish man...thing holding her). She was certainly pretty, easy to see why she'd been picked above any others to be a Noble's mistress, or 'Personal Maid', as some preferred to call them—a pointless distinction in Louise's eyes, everyone knew what those women were. She made to rise, to put this whole mess behind them, only for a cold hand to grip her shoulder. She bit back a yelp as she was forced back down. She glared at the impassive shade, "What was that for?!" she hissed.

"You almost gave away our position!" the blade whispered heatedly.

"What are you talking about? We just need to give her back to these men, and then we can be on our way."

Derflinger's cross guard dropped open with a clank, and, out the corner of her eye, she could see that even the stoic shade's expression had morphed into slight shock.

"Well, I suppose I'd best let you be on your way," her master's voice turned their attention back to the scene before them.

The younger men grunted, but the elder man inclined his head, "Thank you for your assistance. You should come to Count Mott's estate in a few days, I'm sure he would see your compliance rewarded."

Johan nodded, "I just might pay him a visit. Where is this estate?" The elder man quickly spouted off directions, after which, Johan nodded, "Good luck, then."

The man didn't reply, instead breaking into a jog, "C'mon men, if we hurry we'll catch her before nightfall!"

Louise watched as the trio fell into a formation, marching away. She let out a breath she hadn't realized was caught in her throat; now, all they had to do was figure out what to do with the Commoner.

But then her Master raised his staff, and Louise's heart stopped when she saw that he was aiming at the three men's backs.

"Icicle Barrage," he intoned.

The tip of his staff glowed blue, and the raindrops around him froze in the air. They swirled around him, forming dozens of tiny crystalline daggers. The freshly made weapons hung in the air for a second, before zooming forward.

They sliced into the elder man first, and before the other two men could fully react, they too were cut down.

Louise, for the first time non-related to another's merciless taunting, wished she was deaf. Two of the men hadn't died immediately, and were twitching uselessly, pleading for help.

Than another set of icicles formed above the men, sinking into the skulls. Silencing them forever.

"Louise, its safe now, you can come out."

Louise stared at the dead men, wide-eyed and pale as their blood seeped into the forest floor, washing away in the rain.

"That's your cue, little lady." Derflinger's somber tone brought her back to reality.

Louise moved mechanically, never taking her eyes off the corpses just some feet away. She wasn't a fool; it was obvious that Johan had killed people before—what with his talks of 'combat' and whatnot. Her own parents had most assuredly killed people during their military careers. But to actually…witness the act of murder…

She shuddered, shoving aside her fear in favor of anger. "What have you done?!" she shouted.

Her master grunted, walking over to the shade and checking over the Commoner, "I think it's fairly obvious," he dryly stated.

"You didn't have to kill them!"

"Perhaps not," he admitted, casting a healing spell on the girl, "but I couldn't risk them discovering our camp."

"Plus," Derflinger added, "there's the whole 'sexual extortion' thing their boss has going on."

"What are you talking about?" she held the blade out, glaring at it, "She's a  _personal maid_ ; they know what they get into."

She noticed Johan freeze, and the blade took a sharp breath, "I…okay then."

"Louise," a chill went violently down her spine at his stony tone, "I realize that you've had a fairly sheltered life, but please, for the love whatever divine being is listening, think before you speak!"

Louise stepped back at his forceful tone, only to surge forward, "Who are you to determine such a thing? To say my life is lacking in any way!"

"A man who can read between the lines!" he thundered, forcing Louise back with a flinch. He then closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "….Now is not the time for this, we need to get this woman back to our camp."

Louise, pale and trembling, merely nodded, quickly falling in line. She looked over her shoulder, however, "What about….them?"

Without pause, her master flicked his wrists out, and a pair of portals to Oblivion opened up before them. From them, a pack of four translucent, blue wolves stalked out onto the grass. They gazed expectantly at Johan, who merely grunted and jerked his head at the corpses.

Louise quickened her pace as the wolves howled and bounded for their meals.

**Line Break**

The shade, to Louise's mild discomfort, stayed long after they'd returned to camp. It wasn't in the tent with them, but she could see it's silhouette just outside the tarp.

Another source of discomfort was the Commoner resting on her master's bed. She had a blanket to cover up her body—itself barely covered by her 'uniform'—but Louise could tell that she was a shapely, comely girl. Far more than her.  _"Not that that's too hard_ ," a vicious voice mocked in her head. She dispelled the voice with a grunt.

"So, there's no more damage?" the blade said, returning Louise to their conversation.

Johan shook his head, a small sigh escaping his lips, "It would seem that she ran away before anything too bad could happen to her."

Louise scoffed disbelievingly; she'd thought her master above such silly things. It's not like the Commoner was a slave; being a Personal Maid was an  _occupation_ —detestable it may be in her mind.

Her master turned his wizened gaze towards her, and Louise, expecting to see his previous anger, was stunned to see his gaze held disappointment. She flushed, despite herself.

She expected him to reprimand her; instead, he walked over to his cabinet. "Let's hear what she has to say, hm?" he said, pulling out a blue vial.

He walked over to the Commoner, popping open the vial and waving it under her nose. The effect was immediate; her eyes popped open with a gasp, and she flailed her arms slightly. "Wha—Where am I?!" she shrieked when she saw Johan.

Johan, corking the vial, held his arms out placatingly, "Relax, relax." He stepped back a couple steps, "You are safe." When the Commoner darted her eyes across the room—briefly pausing at Louise, to her confusion—he added, "Those men are no longer chasing you."

"Y-You saved me?" she asked, voice quivering and tears pooling in her eyes.

Johan nodded, "Of course."

The Commoner moved quickly, all but leaping up and engulfing Master Johan in a tight embrace. She started to sob, voice wavering as she laid platitude upon platitude on Louise's master.

Her lips curled in distaste, and she started to rise to reprimand the Commoner.

"Don't," came a stern warning from her left. She whirled her head around, glaring at Derflinger. "Set aside your petty beliefs," it intoned, "and recognize her for what she is; a scared girl."

Louise clicked her tongue but kept silent all the same.

"Are you well?" her master's deep voice caught her attention. "Do you require food, water?"

The Commoner stepped back, wiping her eyes. "Y-Yes," she answered.

Johan nodded, walking over to a couple pouches hanging from the wall, "Fair warning, nothing's warm."

"Anything's fine," the Commoner replied with a small grin.

Johan smirked back, and wordlessly pulled out some fruit, jerky, and a flask of water. With a flick of the wrist, he summoned a plate, and upon placing the food on it, telekinetically moved it onto the table.

The Commoner gasped, "You're a mage!"

Louise rolled her eyes, "Obviously."

That got the Commoner to turn around, peering at her. Louise glared back, "What are you looking at, Commoner?"

The girl gasped, "Mademoiselle Louise?"

Louise blinked, "Wha—you know me?"

The Commoner nodded quickly, "Yes! I was a maid at the Academy."

"Ah, you're Siesta, aren't you?" Johan suddenly piped up. When the Commoner whirled around, he added, "We met one-night…at least a month ago by now. I kept your laundry from hitting the floor."

"Oh!" the Commoner gasped, "Monsieur Johan."

"Just Johan is fine." The Commoner nodded slowly and shifted her gaze between the two mages. Johan preempted her question, saying, "I offered my services to train Louise after her wrongful—inexcusable, really—expulsion from the Academy." Louise, despite her irritation, preened at her master's praise. "But I'd like to focus on you," Louise's mouth curled into a snarl.

"Oh," the Commoner sat down, "there's nothing, really." She then started to stuff her face.

Louise may not be as 'experienced' as her master, but she could recognize an attempt to forestall a conversation. She'd done it enough in her youth. He, however, seemed content to wait until the Commoner finished eating. When she did finish, he asked, "Tell me, did you accept the job of your own volition?" When she stilled, he added, "It's fine if you did. Granted, it'd mean that I killed those men for over a girl unwilling to fulfill her end of a bargain, but you did look terrified."

The Commoner paled at his words. "You k-k-killed them?"

"Yes," was Johan's blunt answer.

"W-W-W-W," she stammered, unable to do much else.

"Please, be honest," Johan said with a smile.

The Commoner gulped, but soon said, "I was not Count Mott's first choice."

"Who was?"

"A woman that worked in the kitchen, Sylvia."

"Why did he change his mind?"

The Commoner smirked mirthlessly, "She got pregnant—at least, that what she claimed."

"You doubt her?"

A click of the tongue, "It's well known that Count Mott despises anything to do with children—I would have made the same claim, were it believable." At Johan's cocked brow, she continued, "Sylvia's engaged."

"You're lying!" Louise blurted out.

The Commoner scowled, "I assure you, Mademoiselle, I am not."

"You are!" Louise screeched, "A Noble such as Count Mott would not advance upon an engaged woman!"

The Commoner laughed— _laughed_ —at her, "I knew you were a poor student, but I didn't think you were dumb!"

Louise rose to her feet, "You jumped up  _harlot!_ "

"Louise," her master's calm voice cut through her rage, "Calm yourself. Remember that Siesta has been through an ordeal." As Louise scowled he turned to the Commoner, "Siesta," he said, voice still cold, "don't insult my student. I may have saved you from those men, but I can just as easily drag back to this 'Count Mott'."

The Commoner paled, and Louise felt a bit better at her master's words.

The Commoner clasped her hands over her lap. She fidgeted in place a bit, before saying, "I'm sorry," she said softly, "I am thankful that you saved me. It's just…I was happy at the Academy; I had friends, decent pay, good meals, a warm place to sleep. But," she chuckled hollowly, "even roses have thorns."

"Count Mott," Johan intoned.

The Commoner nodded, "I-I haven't been around all that long, but the older staff, they make sure to warn the new female employees."

"Warn them about what?" Louise resisted the urge to roll her eyes as her master and the Commoner looked at her; if she was going to be forced to listen to this nonsense, she might as well participate.

"About his…tastes," the Commoner soon continued, "how he regularly gets Headmaster Osmund to…gift him maids."

Louise blinked; that couldn't be true. The Headmaster had a generous reputation when it came to Commoners. He wouldn't just give one up for another man's sexual deviancies. Of course, this is the same man who used his Founder-given Familiar to peep on women.

"Osmund just allows this to happen?" there was a rumble akin to thunder in her master's voice.

"He doesn't have much of a choice," the Commoner feebly defended, "Count Mott—"

"Cannot possibly hold a position as prestigious as headmaster of an Academy for magic?"

The Commoner grew silent, while Louise racked her brain to see if she could recall who Count Mott was and what he did. When she found that she couldn't, it was only reasonable to assume that he wasn't in charge of anything important. But…that would mean that headmaster Osmund let himself be pressured by a nobody. Surely, that couldn't be right?

"I…he tried to help me," the Commoner weakly stated.

"Cleary, he did not try hard enough."

"But he promised that he would take in my baby bro—!" the Commoner gasped, "My family!" she shouted. Tears welled up in her eyes, "Oh, I knew I shouldn't have run! Now Count Mott will punish my family for my escape."

Louise opened her mouth to speak, only for her master to quickly turn towards her, arching a brow. They stared at each other a moment, and then Louise closed her mouth, unable to think of a true argument against the Commoner's words.

Johan turned back to the Commoner, "You're certain Count Mott will go after your family?" The Commoner, tears streaking down her face, nodded jerkily. "Is there anything that can be done to persuade him otherwise?"

The Commoner took a few deep breaths, wiping away her tears, "I…I would have to go back to him." She was trembling, but—earning a tiny,  _tiny_  bit of Louise's respect—held her head high, "I cannot allow my family to suffer for my own mistake."

"No," Johan stated as he rose to his feet, "you cannot. Nor will you have to."

The Commoner blinked, "What do you mean?"

"That Count Mott shall no longer be a concern—nor anyone," he said as he snapped his fingers, opening a portal to Oblivion.

The Commoner stared blankly at him. But Louise shot up to her feet, "Master Johan!" she shouted, "Surely you cannot be thinking," she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat, "o-of doing what I think you're thinking of doing."

"You mean killing Count Mott?" Louise's eyes bulged out at his blunt answer, and she could faintly hear the Commoner gasp in fright.

"Y-You can't!" the Commoner shouted, "He's a Noble, you cannot just—"

"Oh," master Johan said with a low, almost sinister chuckle, "I think you'll find that I can do just about  _anything_  I desire. And what I currently desire," he turned to stare at the Commoner, "is to end the current source of your suffering."

"B-b-b-b—"

"Save your breath, child," he said, opening a portal to Oblivion, "I'm doing this; for you, as well as his past and potential victims." He then gruffly shouted, "The Black Hand chest!" into the portal.

His personal demon—Daedra, Louise internally corrected—acquiesced the request wordlessly. Perhaps it knew better than to snark at him when he spoke in that tone?

Master Johan kneeled down, opening the chest. Louise eyed the storage unit. It looked to be made of plain oak and iron, the only truly identifying mark being the large, black handprint on the side.

He nodded, closing the chest and hefting it over his shoulder. He swept his right hand out, and another portal to Oblivion opened up, a shade—dressed in robes adorned with a handprint similar to the one on his chest—walking through. "My Listener," it said with a soft, silky voice. Louise balked, not only because this one could speak, but because it  _sounded_  menacing.

"Stand guard outside the tent with Arniel," Johan stated.

"As you command," the shade said with a low bow.

"And here," he telekinetically lifted and placed Derflinger into the shade's hands, "use Derflinger."

"Woah!" the blade screeched, "You are cold!"

"A speaking blade?" the shade said with slight awe, "How fascinating…what dark magic went into your creation, I wonder?"

"Uh…" the blade dumbly replied.

"I've always wondered," the shade said as it walked to the tent's entrance, "how does it feel to sink into someone's flesh, slide between their ribs, and pierce their heart? Surely, for a weapon made to kill it must be…euphoric?"

"I…don't think we're going to get along," Derflinger said as the pair exited the tent.

"Louise," she turned away from the macabre conversation to see her master vanish his chest into a blue and black portal—a high-level Alteration spell, if she recalled correctly, a personal dimension spell for short-term storage purposes. "Stay in the tent until I return—that applies to you as well, Siesta—I won't be long."

Louise knew she had to do something, to stop him. But her words initial rant died in her throat as her master turned his cool gaze towards her. But she held her ground, saying, "This is wrong," at his arched brow, she scowled, "Killing Count Mott, regardless of what he may have done, is wrong!"

To her surprise, he nodded, "Yes…murder is rarely a good or easy solution. But tell me, can you think of another way to punish him for his deeds?"

Louise immediately thought of the Court system, and just as quickly banished that line of thought. 'Spoiled' and 'sheltered' she may be, even she knew that the Courts were heavily in favor of Nobles—her mother and father had complained of useless soldiers getting off without punishment because their parents were friends of the judges. Hell, even if Count Mott made unwanted advances on a woman of high birth, he'd still probably go unpunished—or wed her, in which case the woman in question would still lose. Thus, she kept silent.

As her master walked for the tent's entrance, he took a moment to gently pat her shoulder. "Don't worry," he said with a small smile, "this will be over soon."

Louise paled at his calm confidence; how many times had he done such a thing? What life did he lead before teaching that could lead him to speak with such certainty?

He left without another word.

Louise sighed heavily as she sank back in her seat, dropping her head in her hands. What a mess.

After some time passed, she lifted her head, eyeing the Commoner—Siesta, she recalled. The girl was pale and seemed to be shivering—from fear, given the heavy cloak drawn over her shoulders. Louise sighed rising from her seat and moving over to her master's cot.

"W-What are you doing?"

Louise bent down, grunting as she pulled out a small chest—his 'personal ale house', as he called it. "You…look like you need to calm down," she said as she grabbed a couple glass bottles.

"Oh," Siesta accepted one of the bottles with an uncertain frown, "Uh…thank you, Mademoiselle." She popped open the bottle, taking a small sip. She hummed appreciatively, "This is really sweet!" Louise nodded, taking a drink herself. Siesta peered at the bottle, "Honningbrew Meadery…never heard of it."

"Neither have I," Louise admitted, "I believe it's Germanian."

"Doesn't sound like any Germanian brewery I've ever heard of."

Louise snorted derisively, "And what would you know of liquor?"

"Well, not me personally," Siesta said, seemingly ignorant of Louise's tone, "But my uncle own's a tavern, and most of his drinks are imported from Germania."

"Your family runs a tavern?"

The other girl shook her head, "No, just my uncle, Scarron, and his daughter—my cousin—Jessica. My own family," she chuckled, "well, my siblings and father would call us 'cultivators of the earth'. But we're just farmers; vegetables, mainly."

Louise grunted, "You have siblings?"

"Yes!" Siesta answered with a smile—the first genuine Louise had seen today, "Seven younger ones!"

Louise choked on her drink, prompting the other drinker to rush over and rub her back soothingly. "Seven?!" Louise rasped.

Siesta giggled, sinking down onto the ground, "A lot, I know. I begged my mother and father to stop after four." She then gazed questioningly at Louise, "Forgive me if I'm being too forward, but you have siblings as well, no?"

Louise narrowed her eyes, "How do you know about them?"

Siesta blushed lightly, looking down at her knees, "Oh…the older staff love to…reminisce about past students."

" _Or compare me to my 'perfect' sisters_ ," Louise thought bitterly. She then dropped her shoulders in shame; Cattleya had never been anything but kind to her, she didn't deserve any sort of scorn.

Éléonore, on the other hand, could go ahead and jump in a ditch.

"Is it true," Louise returned her attention to the other girl in the tent, "that your elder sister turned her dorm into an animal sanctuary?"

Louise laughed, a true, hearty laugh, "I never witnessed it, but I'll believe it." An old memory bubbled to the forefront of her mind, making her giggle. "I remember," she said between sips, "when I was seven I believe, my father arranged for our manor's stable to be added to—to house the animals Cattleya kept taking in—her room was starting to smell something awful." A snort, "Of course, Mother quickly found out what he was doing—I don't know how he thought he could get away with it—and he was forced to sleep in those stables for a month!"

That set Siesta off into a fit of giggles. When they subsided, she brought the bottle of mead up to her lips, only to frown and pull it back, "I'm out," she said grumpily.

Louise grunted, checking her own bottle, "So am I." Louise turned her gaze to chest with the rest of the liquor. It was so far away, and the room kept on wobbling. Louise groaned, and then remembered that she could cast magic. Thus, with a wide grin, she unholstered her wand and aimed for the chest. She then frowned; whatever wind spells she could cast to bring the chest to her would most assuredly destroy the tent, and that simply wouldn't do!

Thus, she lowered her wand, and instead raised her free hand. She ignored Siesta's confused noises, focusing on her master's foreign magic.

Alteration was a complicated subject, she'd found out. While all of her master's magic was based around the idea that reality could, and should, be bent to a mage's will, "Alteration magic," one book had said, "runs on the belief that reality is a suggestion dreamt up by the gods." She…still had trouble wrapping her head around such sentiments, but she could cast spells from the school well enough. Telekinesis easily being her favorite. Not that her master let her use it to grab things just out of reach, the hypocrite. But he's not here so…

Louise focused, gathering magic in her hand. After a moment, her palm glowed orange.

"Ooh," Siesta slurred, "pretty."

Louise ignored her in favor of doing her magic. She aimed at the chest—both with her hand and her eyes. She knew her master had such mastery over the spell that he didn't need to actually see any items he wanted to telekinetically move, he could just flick his wrist and make a plate do tricks in the air before gently falling into his grasp.

She just had to make the chest move five feet. Easy.

At least, she thought so, until she actually cast the spell. The end result being the chest falling forward, dragging along the floor before coming to a dead stop at Siesta's feet.

"Uh…whoops," Louise meekly uttered, dropping her hand.

Siesta gingerly poked the chest, slowly lifting the top. "Oh, thank the Founder, the bottles didn't break!"

Louise smiled widely; she'd count that a success.

**A/N: I can't remember if it was ever stated what Siesta's family did in Tarbes, and five minutes of looking it up via Google revealed nothing. So, I made them farmers. Also, Mott's gonna die. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Cleaning House

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"There's been no sight of her?"

"No, Count Mott."

The Count growled lowly, slamming his fist against his desk, "What the hell am I paying you idiots for?!" He gestured grandly at his bandaged head, "First the bitch breaks my fifth Germanian Dynasty vase against my own head, and then she manages to get away right from under your noses!"

His head-guard bowed lowly, "There are no excuses Count Mott. Though the men and women that saw the girl and let her on her way have been gathered and placed under house arrest."

Mott waved his hand, "Good, good, I'll see them punished later." A wicked thought flashed in his mind, a wickeder grin stretching across his face, "In fact, I think I'll punish them and the bitch at the same time."

The guardsman paled slightly, but stayed bowed, "…If that is all sir, I need to check with the search parties. The first groups should be back by now."

Mott waved him off, "Yes, yes, go on," he gestured to the papers on his desk, "Don't disturb me until you find the girl, I'll be answering and drafting letters."

The guard nodded and closed the door the Count Mott's chamber's as he left.

Mott propped his head on his left palm as he stared at the letters piled on his desk. Ordinarily, he'd do nothing but stew in his own anger until his men found the bitch and he could thoroughly punish her. But these latest developments from the Academy…they worried him.

Not because the Academy was in danger; they allowed the thinnest of Noble blood to study within its halls, it was practically a pig sty!

But…the fact that someone managed to steal  _everything_  from the library—in the middle of the day—and then put everything, except the  _FOUNDER'S_   _Spell Book_ , which would have been great to know about, back—in the middle of the day!

It was all…disconcerting. Who was this master thief, this Nightingale? What was his endgame? His letter gave the indication that he had no idea what the Book truly was. But it could have also been a coy sort of mocking.

Mott dropped his head in his heads, wary of his injury. Founder, but he was looking forward to that girl! Now here he was, up in the middle of a storm, forced to read through letters and think thoughts that could very well wait until the morning!

He stewed in his own misery for a bit, before opening the first of the letters. "Boring," he set it aside, grabbing another, "…Boring," and again, "…Boring…. Boring…Boring." This continued for a bit. Until he came a across a decidedly not boring letter.

'Count Mott,' it read, 'Let it be known that the 55th Dragon Knight platoon has not made any reports in the past month. Their last report—a little over a month ago—came in some fifty miles east of the Academy. Inform your peers and come to us with any knowledge regarding these missing knights.'

That…was concerning. Mott set the letter down, leaning back against his chair. A platoon of Dragon Knights…gone? There were no heavy storms—hell, tonight was the longest spot of rain this part of the country had faced in months. Could it have been Nightingale? But Mott threw away the thought as quickly as it came up; one man couldn't make an entire platoon of  _Dragon Knights_  disappear.

To make matters worse, he hadn't heard anything from the Commoners about dead Knights and their dragons…unless the evidence had been disposed of. " _But what_ ," he thought with a dry chuckle,  _"could do away with all those bodies?"_  He laughed harder, until a terrifying thought came to life. "…A bigger dragon," he whispered.

It was…a month ago now, a massive dragon was summoned by a student, only to fly away before it could be bound to them. Osmund had given him a letter to be sent directly to the Palace thorough Mott's own private channels about the events of that day. He would have sent it too, were it not for the fact the Academy was very publicly broken into soon after. A grave error, it would seem.

Mott rose to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground. "Where is it? Where is it?" he growled under his breath as he tossed away useless letters and papers atop his desk. After clearing the top of his desk, he bent down, opening drawers. "C'mon, C'mon," he chanted.

Until, finally, he found Osmund's letter. "Ha! Got you!" he exclaimed.

_CLICK…CREAK…CLICK_

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mott absent-mindedly waved at the door, "But tell Sir Koch that he needs to prepare a horse for the morning. I've got some letters that need delivering. And send someone to clean this up." When he was met with silence, he scowled, "Are you deaf?" he asked, turning to face the door, "I sai—What the—?"

The person in front of the door frame was a tall, stocky man, with a heavy, black and red cloak drawn around him, covering his body. He had a mask covering his mouth and nose, and a hood covering his head, but his blue eyes shone in the candlelight.

Mott stood straight, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. "Who—"

There was a blur of movement, and a green orb of energy shot out from the figure's hand.

Mott dove to the side, dodging the orb. But he was unable to dodge the second orb that came immediately after.

Mott gasped as magical energy spread from his chest to the rest of his body. He made to stand but found his couldn't move his legs. Nor his arms. Nor even his own head. He could barely breath. Then, a terrible answer, " _A paralysis spell_!" he thought frantically. Those spells required at least two square-class mages. He paled, unless this mysterious man was an elf! Yes, that had to be it! No man could cast a  _paralysis_  spell by themselves. But why would an elf be here? Mott was just a messenger for the Royal Palace, he wasn't in charge of anything important! Unless…the elf wanted information on the Palace. Yes, that's it! They needed his routes, his passwords, his seals!

Well…if he had no choice.

A thick leather boot silently entered his view, and Mott lifted his eyes up as far as he could but found he couldn't see anything above the elf's knees. He started to breath more heavily, let the elf know he wanted to speak, to undo its spell. When the elf knelt down, Mott praised the Founder.

And then the blade struck his throat.

**Line Break**

Johan rose to his feet after stabbing Count Mott's throat, leaving the dagger in it to somewhat stem the flow of blood. As he watched the Noble's eyes bulge helplessly, he considered planting a blood-stained handprint somewhere in the room. He then set aside the thought; Sithis probably wouldn't care either way, but the Night Mother could be a zealous bitch. And the last thing he wanted was for the newest Listener to get told to kill him when he got back to Skyrim. He put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood, it'd be a shame to have to tear it all down.

He walked over to the paper the Count Mott was previously holding, picking it up telekinetically. He dropped his chin in his hand after reading it, "So…the local government doesn't know about my connection to Odahviing yet? If they even know about me at all." He smirked as he summoned flames in his palm, burning the letter to ashes, "Well, let them fumble in the dark for a bit longer." He then performed another spell, and the rest of the scattered papers glowed yellow, rising from the floor and entering a neat pile on the desk. He took a seat, grabbing the first letter, "Let's see what else you were reading…"

Most of them weren't anything special. Taxes, trade agreements, that sort of thing. But three letters did pique his interest. In both the best and worst ways.

The first one was about the blank book he'd kept. Turns out, it was a holy artifact that once belonged to their Founder-god. The letter didn't go into specifics as to why the book was blank, but it was safe to assume it was some sort of safeguard the once-mortal man put in place into order to protect his more powerful spells. It'd make a nice going away present for Louise—she could certainly put it to good use, with her ungodly magical stamina. He then grimaced; perhaps it would be best that she didn't know he not only robbed her country's pride and joy, but stole an item closely tied to their god. Maybe he could fake Nightingale's death and 'find' the book among their belongings? Ah, food for thought.

The second letter was interesting if only because of the name. It was from a young woman named Cecily Leir, thanking Count Mott for his attempts at finding her uncle's killer. It took a bit for him to remember that he had, in fact, killed a man named Leir back when he bought their supplies near a month ago. He was briefly worried that the woman would seek revenge, but based on the letter—her detached words, the meticulous handwriting, the lack of tears staining the paper and ink—it was safe to assume she didn't actually care for her deceased uncle. Which was good, one less thing to worry about.

The final letter though, was something to worry about. He leaned back, pinching his nose, "Of course…couldn't have just been hobbyists!" Odahviing's little snack was already a potential problem—it would be foolish to discount what a grieving family member could be capable of—but government sanctioned soldiers? That's just adding fuel to the fire. Of course, he highly doubted that anyone would think that he was responsible for the deceased dragon riders—which was still weird to think about, even if this world's dragons were little more than beasts—but he  _did_  admit to Osmund that he was Odahviing's friend. And when word got out that Mott was dead the Palace would just send people personally to the Academy to get their information. After which Osmund would be obliged to tell them what he knew.

He bit back a sigh. It was foolish, in hindsight, to assume that he could go his entire journey without notice. Were he traveling alone, he'd cut his losses and leave now—or, at the very least go into hiding. But…he couldn't do that to Louise. The girl had truly grand potential that had only just begun to show itself. To stunt it now…he'd sooner cut off his own hand. No, future scrutiny would be well worth it if it meant he could further cultivate her talents.

He clicked his tongue; he'd stuck to one campsite in order to get Louise used to living outdoors. Now was a good a time as any to get her used to breaking and making camp over a long journey.

He stood back up, rearranging the papers to make them seem disturbed, but not violently so. He cast a reanimate spell on Mott. The corpse glowed blue and rose to its feet. He directed it to the chair. "Get your letter opener," he commanded. The corpse fumbled with the drawers for a bit, but eventually pulled a decently sized knife. Johan grabbed the knife, looking it over. At length, he nodded, satisfied. "Swap the knives," he commanded. It did so deftly.

Johan cleaned and sheathed his dagger, and then cancelled the spell. The corpse flopped lifelessly onto the table, shoving the knife deeper in its throat and spilling more blood onto the desk and its body.

After taking a moment to clean excess blood off the floor—not the carpet, unfortunately, but with any luck no one would think the check it until it was too late—he quietly exited out the door leading to the hall. He stealthily passed by what few guards were patrolling the manor, stopping at a balcony. He quickly stepped outside, sighing softly as the cool rain steadily beat against his cloak.

Johan looked down the balcony, smirking when he saw that no one was nearby. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a wand—a bit on the smaller size, stylized to look like a rose—and stepped onto the railing. "Here's hoping," he muttered under his breath. Slightly louder, he intoned "Levitation," and waved his wand in a spiral pattern.

Immediately, he felt air wrap around his body, and he was lifted into the air. With a small laugh, he directed his wand forward, and hovered forward off the balcony. Another shift of the wrist, and he floated down towards the ground. It was only when he looked down that he realized he was falling a bit too quickly. With a quick shout, "Stop!" he froze in the air, a foot or two off the ground. And then the spell cancelled, and the wind left his body.

He landed with a grunt. "Note to self," he mumbled, as he rubbed his knees, "don't use the word 'Stop' with a directly-controlled spell."

" _Still,"_  he thought as he looked behind him at the manor of the former Count Mott, " _I'd call that a job well done_."

**Line Break**

"Ah, my Listener," came Lucian's soft timbre, "I trust you had a…fruitful endeavor?"

"Boss, there you are!" Derflinger exclaimed, "Can you please send this guy away? He's super creepy! Er, no offense."

"None taken," the shade said with a chuckle.

Johan shook his head, but nonetheless held his hand out to accept Derflinger. "Count Mott will no longer taint these lands and accost its people. Any trouble?"

Lucien crossed his arms, looking over his shoulder at the tent, "No. Unless you count a pair of drunken children as…trouble. Which you should," he added, "too many a brother and sister have been compromised by children seeking…thrills, after imbibing liquid courage."

Johan groaned, pinching his nose, "Shor's bones, tell me they didn't—"

"Nothing like that boss," Johan relaxed at Derflinger's words, "but…I hope you know some good hangover cures."

"Well, that will depend on how much alcohol they've consumed." He then directed his attention to the two shades, "Gentlemen, thank you for your work."

Arniel nodded wordlessly, while Lucien bowed dramatically, "Should you have need of me, Listener, merely whisper into the void, and I shall appear."

Johan grunted, and banished the two back to their corners of Oblivion. He hefted Derflinger, walking towards his tent flap, "Well, Derflinger," he said, "let's survey the damage."

The first thing he noticed was that both his student and his guest were dead to the world. Siesta was curled against his  _empty_  alcohol storage chest, mumbling incoherently. Louise, at least, wasn't on the floor. But she was snoring as she slumped over her stool, bottles strewn all around her.

"Aw, don't they look precious," Derflinger snarked.

"They emptied the chest," Johan muttered disbelievingly.

"Not that you'd think that, if you were here to hear them drunkenly gripe about their families. Well, mainly Louise. Man, she has a  _lot_  of baggage."

"They emptied the chest," Johan repeated.

"Let me just say, if I ever meet that mother of hers—ooh, it will not be pretty!"

"They  _emptied_  the chest."

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Where have you been?"

Johan ignored Derflinger in favor of glaring at the two young girls passed out in his tent. He then sighed, opening a portal to Oblivion. "Get me a cot," he said into the portal as he placed Derflinger onto his table, "and put this back," he added, calling forth the Black Hand chest and shoved it through the portal.

"Hmm," the Daedra hummed as a cot fell out the portal with a soft  _thud_ , "I expected more of a mess."

Johan scoffed, "Please. I'm not full of piss and vinegar like I was in my youth."

"You are much less annoying, yes."

Johan rolled his eyes. He was about to close the portal, but then he remembered Mott's letter. "Ah, yes. The blank book, it's a holy artifact belonging to these people's god, the Founder."

"Truly?" the Daedra sounded surprised, "It doesn't feel divine…"

"It was made before his ascension," Johan said, to which the demon hummed in reply. "Anyway, just thought you should know. And I think I'll leave the charm-breaking to you. Don't want to risk Louise recognizing the book and questioning where I got it." The Daedra made a noncommittal grunt but said no more.

After closing the portal, Johan went about setting the girls up in the cots. Siesta proved to be a bit of an annoyance, what with her utter refusal to let go of the empty chest. In the end, he decided to just lift them both together, placing her on the cot and draping her with a fur blanket as she cuddled closer to her chosen companion.

Louise was far easier to pick up and put to bed. Almost like the small child she looked like. Not that he would say that to her face. Well…maybe after she shook off her inevitable hangover.

In the end, he set up a stool against the table, leaning back and relaxing his body after a long day's work.

"Hey…boss," Derflinger suddenly said somberly, "what was that you were saying about that book?"

Johan shot his eyes open. "That depends," he slowly began, "what did you hear?"

"I-I don't care that you stole it," the blade said, "You just killed at least four men in cold blood and…I can't bring myself to berate you for that, so I can't go around and say, 'stealing is wrong'." A sigh, "It's just…can I see it?"

Johan cocked a brow, but opened the portal to his personal Daedra nonetheless, "Give me the book," he commanded.

"Keep the book, give me the book, make up your mind," the Daedra groused, but did as requested nonetheless. Wordlessly he placed the book in front of Derflinger.

The sentient weapon shifted in his sheath, no doubt to get a better look. Though he had no face to speak of, Johan could tell his companion was 'staring' intently at the item. "Open it," he softly requested. Johan did so, flipping the book open to a random, blank, page. Another long moment of intense silence. And then, a forlorn sigh. "No…no," Derflinger softly stated.

"'No', what?" Johan asked, sending the book back.

"I…something about the book sounded familiar."

"You've seen it before?"

"…Maybe?" Derflinger groaned, "But…I distinctly remember there being words written in it." A soft sigh, "I must be remembering a copy, or some other ancient book."

"Does…your amnesia bother you, much? Would you like to find answers? I'm sure if we went back to the merchant, we could track your previous owners."

Derflinger was silent for a moment, before clanking his cross guard in a mimicry of a clicking tongue, "No…no, you should focus on the little lady. She needs the help more than me."

Johan hummed, stroking his beard, "Rest assured Derflinger, should the chance ever arise, I will gladly assist you in rediscovering your past."

"I…I appreciate that, Johan," Derflinger softly said, "Good night."

"Good night, Derflinger."

**Line Break**

The first thing Louise was made aware of was the spinning. She hadn't even opened her eyes and it felt like she was standing atop a carriage on a mountainous road. She smacked her lips, only to find her mouth was dry as a desert. To say nothing of her splitting headache. What had she done last night?

"Emptied my entire liquor chest," came her master's booming voice.

Louise immediately doubled over, groaning as she her ears with her hands. Had she said that aloud?

"Yes," her master bluntly answered.

Another voice broke out in pained groans, and Louise, slowly, sat up and turned towards it, opening her eyes. Her vision swam for a second, but she was able to discern Siesta's shape across the room.

Suddenly, a pale black vial was shoved in her face. "Here," Johan stated.

Louise gingerly grabbed the vial, sniffing it. A mistake, as it were, given the way her stomach twisted and churned. She gagged, jerking her head away, "It's foul!" she cried.

Siesta groaned loudly, which was only exacerbated when Johan shoved a similar vial under her own nose. "Well, you've both consumed a startling amount of alcohol. This little concoction should do away with the nausea and migraines."

"W-What's in—"

"Don't ask me that," her master replied with a smile.

Louise stared at him for a moment, before steeling her nerves and downing the liquid. Tears filled her eyes as her gag reflex tried to activate, but she held it back. When finished, she threw her head back, tossing the vial on the cot. "I…I still feel terrible," she said after a moment.

"Between the two of you, you consumed twelve bottles of mead. That's going to take time to flush out of your system." He walked towards the tent entrance, "I've got food waiting for the two of you when you're ready," he said, leaving the two girls alone.

Louise dropped her head in her hands, rubbing her temples.

"Oh," she heard Siesta moan, "that is not—what in the world?" Louise lifted her head up at the girl's words, cocking a brow at the chest beside her on the cot.

"Is that the alcohol chest?" she asked.

Siesta nodded slowly, "Yes…it was surprisingly comfortable." She giggled, somewhat bitterly, "Certainly better than how Count Mott would have been."

Louise cracked a smile at the jape, before a cold sensation spread out from her gut. Count Mott…

She rose to her feet, only wobbling slightly as she strode outside. She winced when the sunlight assaulted her vision, but still kept moving to her destination.

When her master turned, she preempted his words by saying, "Is Count Mott dead?"

Her master, previously smiling softly, frowned, turning back to the pot over the fire, "Yes. Is that still a problem?"

Louise wanted to say it was. But, then she recalled snippets of her conversation with Siesta the night before.

'I didn't even want to go to the damn Academy,' she'd complained, 'I hate farming, but it's better than waiting after a bunch of spoiled brats that can't even clean up after themselves.' (Louise was glad she was drunk then, otherwise she might have done something rash, and destroyed the thin bond the two had formed) 'But,' Siesta continued, 'I did grow to like it—the people, at least—and the money I sent back meant that Father, Mother, and the rest of my family didn't have to scrounge for extra work after half the crops failed.' The young woman's face darkened, 'And then Headmaster Osmund,' she sneered, 'decided to reward my loyalty and hard work by shipping me off to be some pig's, what did he call it, ah yes,  _stress reliever_!'

She was just doing her duty as the eldest child, and then was thrust into a position that no one—regardless of their blood—should have to enter. She could…respect her hardships.

She clenched her fists tightly, "Did you…kill anyone else?"

Thankfully, Johan shook his head, "Just Count Mott."

" _And those three men_ ," a small part of her whispered in the corner of her mind. Count Mott may have deserved to die for his actions, but did they? They were just following orders. Though…they did seem to know what Siesta was supposed to do for Count Mott. And they seemed fine with dragging her back to her fate. Does that mean they deserved to die?

She dropped her head in her hands with a groan; oh, why did everything have to be so complex! How she wished…well, no, it was probably for the best that they'd run into Siesta, for her sake if nothing else.

"Mah lahzey?" her master asked in a soft tone.

Louise lifted her head, shaking it side-to-side, "It's fine," she said. "What's done is…done. Let us never speak of it again."

He chuckled softly, gesturing for her to take a seat. "You still disagree with my decision."

"Of course," Louise bit out, crossing her arms and glaring at the ground.

"Do you wish to turn me in to the authorities?" Louise whipped her head up. He was turned away from her, stirring the pot, but she could still see that his face was akin to a stone mask. "I won't complain," he added, "I did just kill a man—four, if you include the three from last night—in cold blood."

Louise hadn't even considered that. But it was true; as a Noble she could easily see to it that Johan was punished for his crimes.

But…should she? Could she? Aside from the fact that Count Mott and those men might have deserved it, he was…well, he was her first…friend. Someone who enjoyed her company, who debated with her, helped her when she needed it. Of course, Cattleya was her dearest sister, and the one person in the world she could say she loved, but even she didn't think Louise capable of magic. Johan never doubted her for a second. He…he believed in her.

Plus, to his favor, he didn't kill them out of malice or a desire to be cruel. He did it to keep Siesta safe. That was a noble thing, wasn't it? Protecting the weak and helpless? Her own parents were knights, soldiers. Surely, they'd done the same? Killed people to keep others safe. And she couldn't condemn her parents, could she?

No…no, she wouldn't. Not for that, at least.

She sighed, turning to stare intently at her master, "I will not," she said, "Turn you into the authorities."

"Really now?" he asked, the only break in his mask being a cocked brow.

"No…to do so would acknowledge that Siesta defied a Noble," she grimaced, "and…that wouldn't help anyone."

Johan hummed, gently patting her arm, "That could not have been an easy decision, thank you." She turned her head away, sure that her face was burning. It was only when he placed a bowl of what seemed to be vegetable stew that she looked back to him, and even then, it was just a simple 'thank you'.

She'd halfway finished by the time Siesta exited the tent. Louise quirked a brow at the large woolen dress she was wearing, "Where'd that come from?"

"It was at the foot of the bed," the girl answered. She then turned to Johan, bowing slightly, "I can only assume you are to thank for it."

"I am."

She paled slightly, "And…Count Mott…"

"Shall no longer plague you, nor any women."

Siesta froze slightly at his declaration, "Ah…I, um, thank you?" she said hesitantly.

"Don't worry, it won't be linked back to you—or me for that matter," he mumbled into his beard.

Once again, Louise was left wondering what her master did before taking up teaching that could lead him to speak with such confidence towards…murder. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

After that awkward interaction, Siesta sat down, quietly accepting the bowl sent her way. The three ate in silence after that. It was a good meal, Louise thought, filling, and it didn't upset her stomach in the slightest.

After setting their bowl down, Johan crossed his arms, staring at Siesta, "Now, my dear, what to do with you?"

"Oh," Siesta blinked, "That is a…good question." She looked around thoughtfully, before glumly stating, "I…I suppose I'll have to go home."

"Why not back to the Academy?" At Siesta blank stare and Johan's arched brow, Louise added, "I mean, yes, what Osmund allowed to happen is beyond reproach, but it's got to be the safest, most stable option."

"'Safest'? What are yo—oh!" Siesta gasped, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

"Wouldn't know what?" Louise asked.

"Someone broke into the Academy!"

"What?!" Louise shrieked, shooting to her feet.

"Oh, how tragic," her master said with a yawn.

"Hey, some of us are trying to sleep!" the blade shouted from somewhere.

But Louise ignored his cry, whirling around on her master, "Did you know about this?"

He grunted, leaning back on his stool, "How would I have come across this information? I've been out here, same as you."

Louise nodded bashfully; yes, that made sense. She turned back to Siesta, "What was stolen?"

"Um, I'm not sure." Before Louise could ask anything further, she elaborated, "The older staff have been very tight-lipped about everything. The thief, I think they called themselves Nightlord," Johan muttered something under his breath, "stole everything—all the books, all the shelves—out of the library, and then put it all back a few weeks later."

"…Come again."

Siesta shrugged her shoulders, "That's all I know, honest." She started drumming her fingers against her leg, "But everyone's still spooked. Especially the Nobles that were brought in to figure out the mess."

"What Nobles?" Louise asked.

Again, Siesta shrugged, "Military types. Although…now that I think about it, one of the women—in fact, one of the only women—looked a lot like you."

Louise blinked, "Wha—my mother is there?" At Siesta's hesitant nod, Louise drew inward. The situation must be worse than Siesta knew for The Heavy Wind herself to make an appearance. Louise blanched, feeling an odd sense of pity for whoever this 'Nightlord' was—her mother could be…harsh beyond what one might consider reasonable for the crime. She also, to her brief shame, felt an odd sense of glee. Rare was the occasion where her mother was caught off-guard; that the Academy was broken into again while she was  _there_ …well, a small part of Louise wished to see if her mother's steel visage had cracked.

"Louise," she jolted at her master's voice, "would you like to visit your mother?"

But Louise quickly shook her head, "No!" She then coughed, and started again, "Er, I'd rather not. She sounds…busy."

Johan stared intently at her, before giving her a small nod, and turning to Siesta, "Very well, I suppose our next course of action would be to take you back to your hometown."

"Oh!" Siesta waved her hands frantically, "You don't have to—"

"If you think I'm going to let you travel on your own," her master interrupted Siesta with a bark of laughter, "you're dumber than I thought." Siesta frowned at his words, but he rose to his feet before she could reply. "Louise," he said, "you'd best put away your things." He winked at her, "I'll stop by in an hour to tell you what you did wrong!"

He laughed as he left her fuming on her stool, before calming down and shaking her head with a small smirk. She'd show him!

"Um…L-Louise," Louise turned to Siesta, who was holding her hands clasped over her lap, "If you'd like I could…assist you, in cleaning your quarters."

Louise considered the offer. It'd certainly go by faster, and it'd been forever since she'd had someone wait on her. But…she doubted her master would approve, to say nothing of the fact that Siesta wasn't her servant. Thus, she shook her head. "Thank you," she said, "but I'll manage on my own."

Siesta huffed, before smiling softly, "Well, can I at least wait in your tent—it's getting a bit chilly. And you don't need to worry about clearing a space for me, I can do that myself."

Louise smiled, and led her towards her tent.

**A/N: I don't think Louise is an inherently shitty person. A lot of her problems can be traced back to her family (** **Éléonore is fond of whipping people for perceived slights, Karin is…Karin, Centurion's biggest claim to fame is trying to** _**kill** _ **Saito in canon and he openly admits that he can't reason with his wife when she gets in a mood. Cattleya seems pretty normal, but 75% of her family is still wacko). Point is, I think exposure to a person of authority that won't react violently to a problem (or just straight-up ignore her) would help her mellow out. Plus, a great deal of her insecurities and emotional baggage comes from her 'failure' to live up to her magical heritage. And that's definitely not a problem in this story. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Revelations

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"You cad! You vile, cruel, villain! I demand recompense!"

"Oh, and how exactly are you going to get said recompense, you fat oaf?!"

"How dare you! I—"

"What the hell is going on?!" Matilda yelled, unable to stand the noise anymore. She'd been tearing her hair out trying to figure out—both with others and by herself—how Nightingale was able to infiltrate the Academy.  _Twice_. As well as how they could possibly have known that the Founder's Spellbook was kept in the library; she refused to entertain the ludicrous thought that they'd stolen and kept the book  _unknowing_  of its value. No, there had to be something that'd she'd overlooked—the tiniest, most insignificant of rumors even—that could have led Nightingale to conclude that the book was kept in the Academy's library.

But she couldn't so much as hear her own thoughts when a bunch of brats decided that the best place to have an argument was in front of the headmaster's office.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Longueville!" Oh, just her luck, Guiche de Garmont, "How lovely to see you again." He tilted his head up, sighing dramatically and placing his hand on his chest, "Oh, how woeful that our first meeting of the day is marred by this lout's impotent whining!"

"Impote—you listen here Garmont!" A small turn of the head, and Matilda frowned at the sight of an irate Malicorne de Grandpré. The two were normally thick-as-thieves—although, given her experience with fellow thieves, the current situation was very apt. "…not for your incompetence," Oh right, they were having an argument, "my wand wouldn't have broken!"

"And I told you," Guiche retorted, "that I couldn't have been more careful if I tried." He sniffed turning his nose up at his 'friend', "Not my fault your too portly to hop to the side quickly enough."

Before Malicorne could shout something back, Matilda interrupted with a frown, "Wait, a broken wand?" as the two students turned to her, she continued, "That's what all this noise is about?"

Malicorne looked scandalized, before scowling, "I don't know why I expected a mere Commoner to understand the importance of a wand."

Matilda's eye twitched, but she refrained from saying anything. Instead she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "In case you two haven't noticed, the staff at the Academy—and the military personnel currently staying here—have much more important things to worry about than childish squabbles!" She took a small bit of glee as the two brats paled, Guiche especially, "So just…resolve this. Now."

The two were still for several moments, until Guiche turned to his peer. "Malicorne, I am sorry that your wand broke during our drills. There can be no excuse for my lack of awareness," he finished his apology with a short bow. He then added, "But I am not paying for a new wand."

Before the argument could begin anew, Matilda said, "Wait,  _pay_  for a wand? What happened to your spares? I know that returning students get three for free, not counting any gifted by your families or bought by yourself." She arched a brow at Malicorne, who fidgeted slightly, "Unless you mean to tell me that you've already gone through them all."

Malicorne blushed but stayed silent. Guiche scoffed, "He goes through wands like horse goes through carrots."

"I did have a spare!" Malicorne protested loudly. He then drew inward, "But I seem to have…misplaced it, recently." At Guiche's laugh, he scowled, "Oh, come off your high horse! I know you've gone through a few wands as well, Mister 'I-keep-impeccable-care-of-my-equipment'!"

"I've misplaced  _one_  wand in the last month! In my entire tenure at this Academy!" Guiche snarled, "You've gone through four in less than a year!"  
"Wait," Matilda interrupted, "You've both lost wands recently?"

Guiche sighed dramatically, gesturing dramatically, "Yes, I noticed it a week ago, after giving Father a quick tour of the grounds. He didn't thankfully," Guiche added beneath his breath.

Matilda furrowed her brow; Malicorne was a known klutz, but Guiche was notoriously tidy. The odds of them both misplacing something as important as their wands were…low.

"Your idiocy has to be infectious!" Guiche added heatedly, "Reynald told me that he lost track of his spare as well. And Gimli almost burst into tears when he realized that he'd lost the wand his so-called 'secret admirer'—who I still believe to be his grandmother, no matter what he says otherwise! —gifted him. To say nothing of my dear Montmorency; and it was such a beautiful thing, studded with rubies and emeralds!"

Matilda froze. Five students with missing wands? She gulped, a terrible pit forming in her stomach. She quickly left the two students, despite their pleas for her to come back and mediate.

As her mind whirled at Guiche and Malicorne's word, she found herself picking up speed as she traveled through the Academy, until she was sprinting towards the cafeteria.

She slammed the doors open with a mighty  _CRASH_ , causing all eyes to turn on her. She sucked in a breath in an effort to calm herself. "Show of hands," she yelled, "Who here has lost a wand in the last month?!" No one made a move—save for a few of the adults scattered about that started to quietly laugh at her—but they didn't need to. The embarrassed looks on at least a dozen students faces told her all she needed to know.

She stumbled away from the door, sliding her back down against the wall. She let out a small, hysterical giggle. Whoever this Nightingale was, she owed them a drink (before crushing their skull, at any rate). They really were skilled. A veritable genius.

**LINE BREAK**

Johan quickly back-pedaled from the cloud of smoke, coughing madly. "That," he said amid gasps, "could have gone better."

Louise, having scrambled away from the rancid smoke-cloud herself, rolled her eyes, "Gee, you think?!"

"Uh, guys, its drifting this way!" Derflinger shouted from the other end of the table, futilely fidgeting in place.

Louise shot her arm out, and after a few seconds, her palm glowed orange, and Derflinger zoomed towards her. Too fast, unfortunately, given the way he slammed into her abdomen. She wheezed, cancelling the spell and dropping to her knees to clutch her stomach.

"You know," the blade said, "I'd apologize, but that was, actually, entirely your own fault."

Louise glared down at the living weapon, "Watch your words. I can easily toss you back into—sweet Founder, it's heading this way!" Thankfully, her master had pulled out a wand, and a quick wind spell dispersed the cloud into the air.

"So," he said after a moment, voice painfully cheery, "what have we learned?"

"That the little lady doesn't know what a pinch means?" Louise stomped at Derflinger's handle, "Ow! Causing me pain won't make it any less true!"

"While that was quite a bit more than a pinch," her master said, "I think the fault lies in the fact that you added a partially dead Luwenna's Tear to the—what was it called? Ah yes!—Germania Wort extract."

She sidled him a glance, "How did you know it was dead?"

He shrugged, "Felt dead."

"And why didn't you tell me that before I added it in?"

Another shrug, "I wanted to see if you'd notice—terribly disappointing that you didn't," he added with a wry smirk, "and, well, I wanted to see what would happen."

Louise sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Honestly, you can be such a child!"

"I've been told it makes me lovable."

"More like obnoxious."

"Is everyone okay?! I heard screaming!"

Her master chuckled, "We're fine Sies…woah."

Louise turned towards Siesta as well, only to pause, turn away, rub her eyes, and look again. "…That's a lot of wood."

Siesta blinked, turning to look at the wood stacked atop the cart she was pulling, "Is it? I would have gotten more, but the axe started to chip."

"It's as tall as you are!" Louise shouted.

"You chipped the axe?" Johan frowned.

Siesta bowed at Johan, "I'm sorry, but I did."

"May I see it? Oh, and Louise? Clean up your mess."

Louise sniffed as Siesta brought the axe to Johan. After she handed it to him, she caught sight of the messy Alchemy lab, frowning. "What happened here?" she asked.

Louise crossed her arms with a huff, "An easily avoidable mistake, were it not for my mentor's cheekiness."

"Mah lahzey," Johan chuckled without taking his eyes off the axe, "that sounds an awful lot like sass, when I should be hearing the sound of cleaning." Louise stuck her tongue out at him, but moved over to the table nonetheless. Siesta following close behind. "And Siesta," he added, "stop helping Louise. She's never going to learn otherwise."

The young woman blushed, stammering out some sort of denial as Louise started the slow process of cleaning the Alchemy equipment. At least, she would have, were it not for a thought that flashed in her mind. "Master," she called out, turning towards him, "Where is the neutralizing agent?" He didn't say anything, merely smirking lightly and waving his hand. A portal opened to her left, and a purple vial labelled 'Neutralizer' gently fell to the table. She thanked him and set about her task.

"Hmm," Siesta suddenly came up from behind Louise, breath tickling her ear, "that's not like any Alchemy set I've ever seen."

"Gah!" Louise shrieked, jumping back as her face flushed, "Don't do that."

Siesta, as startled as Louise was flustered, blinked. "What did I do?" she asked innocently

Louise's frowned lightly, blush intensifying, "You were far to close; you breathed into my ear."

A small blush crept onto Siesta's face. "O-oh, I see," she said, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Louise told her, "It's not as if your breath is rancid. It was merely…surprising." Master Johan muttered something she couldn't hear, so she ignored it in favor of answering Siesta's original question. "It's from Master Johan's homeland."

"Is Alchemy different there compared to here?"

Louise nodded, "Yes. The differences between this lab and the ones you'd see at the Academy are actually quite fascinating."

"In what ways?"

"Well," Louise began, "Master Johan's type of Alchemy is actually more akin to potion-making but even then, the contrasts are stark. Disregarding the lack of a wand, you don't actually cast magic on the ingredients. The only times you use magic are for sterilizing the vials—you don't even need to cast a spell to light the fire, there's a type of enchanted flint that creates some sort of magical flame that helps draw out an ingredient's innate magical properties." She frowned, "Of course, while it is simpler to use than Halkeginian potion-making, it's not as versatile, as far I can tell. A mage can create a dozen different potions from the same four ingredients, and I've heard stories that a very skilled one can even change the potion in the middle of the process. Master Johan's style of Alchemy is far more rigid, and once you make a potion, you're committed to it. Trying to deviate from the formula will either weaken it, or cause it to fail. And that's another thing!" the young girl suddenly exclaimed, dropping the cleaning tools in favor of gesticulating, "the failures and successes are  _completely_  different! Fail a Halkeginian potion, and it's just mush, but if you succeed, it has a glow to it—what color depends on the type of potion you make. But these potions, they almost always turn out the same color—purple—and you have to operate by a set system of symbols and vial shapes and colors, or, if you only have generic vials, by  _smell_. Which isn't as hard as you might think. Each type and sub-type—" she turned to Siesta, only to pause at the girl's glazed-over eyes. Louise frowned, "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Siesta jolted, blushed, and coughed into her hand, "You lost me a couple sentences in," she sheepishly admitted. Louise started to grumble to herself, but stopped as Siesta said, "But it was nice, seeing you so excited." The young girl cast her gaze downward, "You were never like this at the Academy."  
Louise sniffed, turning back to the Alchemy lab. "Well, I wasn't always so," she stopped, trying to think of how to describe her past self. "…angry," she finally decided.

"How do you mean?" At Louise's cocked brow, she elaborated, "I'd only been working at the Academy for six months, and I started in the summer, when all you students were gone."

Louise nodded absent-mindedly, "Well, first years, for the few months, don't actually cast any magic. At least, not officially," she added with a scowl, "there's always braggarts and blowhards wanting to show off their 'skills'." She shook her head clear of those thoughts, "Anyway, for the first few months, I was able to hide the fact that I couldn't cast a proper spell—I'd only practice alone in my room in the dead of night, and even then, only simple spells to keep the explosions from growing too big." She briefly wondered where she would be now if she'd tried practicing more advanced spells back then, only to cast aside such thoughts; her current lot in life was just fine. "Anyway, just before the Fall break, the staff lift the spell prohibition by having students cast a water-spell on a dying flower. I," Louise sighed, "don't have to tell you what happened then. After that, it didn't take long for everyone to realize that every spell I cast failed."

"Leading to your nickname," Siesta concluded.

Louise stiffened, clenching her fist as a fire wormed its way up her chest. Louise the  _Zero_. She would never forgive that humiliation. Not from anyone. But, they'd all see how wrong they were. Just as soon as she'd learned all she could learn from Master Johan. Well, not  _all_  she could learn; she suspected that the depth of his knowledge could fill the Academy's library twice over. And as much as she'd come to like and respect the man, she did want to live her own life, eventually.

"I remember," Louise turned her attention back to Louise, "after one of the older staff informed me of your situation," Louise glowered at the fact that Commoner's gossiped about her, "that I felt…well, sorry for you."

Louise jerked back, "I beg your pardon?"

Siesta held up her hands, "I mean…you tried so hard, everyone could see that, but you were only ever mocked for it. Even when you looked on the verge of tears, your fellow nobles never once stopped their verbal abuse." She chuckled, "A few of the older women would say that they wished they could wrap you in a blanket and rock you on their knees until you were all better."

Louise blushed, unsure whether to be mortified or flattered.

"But," Siesta continued, "to your credit, you never gave in. Even when everyone, the students, the teachers—your own family," she added with a slight growl.

"Cattleya never mocked me," Louise quickly said.

Siesta huffed, smiling softly, "No, and she sounds lovely. I would like to meet her, one day."

Louise nodded lightly, inwardly vowing to never let that happen. For meeting Cattleya would mean meeting the rest of her family, and she could already her mother shouting at her for fraternizing, and getting drunk with, a Commoner. To say nothing of what she would say to Siesta herself…No, Siesta would  _never_  meet her family.

"It was…admirable, to witness you strive to prove yourself better than the jeers everyone threw your way." the young girl concluded with a smile.

Louise's blush returned with a fervor, "W-Well then, um…thank you."

Siesta bowed her head slightly, smile still on her face. She then lifted her eyes towards the sky, "Hmm…it's getting late, I think I'll go see Johan about our next meal."

Despite herself, Louise started to salivate; not to say that Master Johan's meals were bad, but Siesta just had a way with food. Odd, since they used the exact same ingredients, but Louise wasn't really up to questioning it.

Her eyes followed Siesta as she got up from her seat to speak with Johan, who'd done away with the axe and was reading some book. They started to converse, when, as Siesta was saying something Louise couldn't hear, her master suddenly shifted his gaze to her.

She jolted at the sudden scrutiny, only to see him flick his gaze to Siesta, and then back to her. Then, a soft smile spread across his face.

Louise stared at him for a moment, before huffing, returning to her work. So what if she was bonding with a Commoner? Wouldn't think that'd be a problem, the way he carried himself. Besides, it wasn't as if it was a chore to talk with Siesta; it helped that she had a sense of humor, and a compassion befitting her pale, pretty face and dark, doe-eyes.

Louise blinked, where had that come from?

**Line Break**

Johan hummed as he traced over their route. "Looks like we'll reach Tarbes in…forty hours, at our current pace."

"Is that including rest-stops?" Derflinger asked.

"Sixty, then," Johan amended.

"Gotta say, I'll miss Siesta. Her cooking is divine!"

Johan scoffed, "What are you complaining about, you don't eat?"

"But I can smell."

Johan sighed, "For reasons still unknown to me. It's not like you can to eat."

"How do you think I feel?" Derflinger groused. "I think whoever made me might have been a sadist."

"Actually," Johan ignored Derflinger's grumbling, "how  _are_  you functioning?"

"Come again?"

"I mean," Johan snapped his fingers, a dagger falling onto his open palm, "All the enchantments I know of, that you can apply to a weapon, have charges; they will, eventually, run out. Even armor enchantments have an upper-limit as to how much abuse they can go through before needing to replenish the enchantment. But you," he pointed at the blade, "Haven't needed a recharge at all, even though you've been aware—which, ostensibly, is the enchantment—since you're awakening."

Derflinger hummed, "Then…that has to mean that the magic that went into making me was a lot different than anything you're used to."

"Yes," Johan frowned, idly tossing his dagger in the air, "but in what way?"

"Hey…didn't you say that I have other enchantments?"

Johan hummed, "I've speculated as much, yes." He then shrugged, "But I can't think of any way to see what those are without…" he trailed off.

"Without what?"

"Destroying you."

Derflinger gasped softly, "Ah…let's call that plan: Never."

Johan laughed, returning to the map. The pair entered a comfortable silence.

… _KRABOOM_ …

Johan jolted, whirling around towards the source of the explosion, priming some spells. It was only after a second and third explosion followed quickly after the first that he realized it was only Louise. He then frowned, "I don't recall giving her any spell books on explosions."

"Can't she make those herself?" Derflinger spoke up, "Maybe she's practicing?"

Johan grunted, grabbing Derflinger from the table, "Let's find out, shall we?"

They followed the sound of the explosions, which were steadily growing farther apart. Thankfully, they came upon the clearing where Louise—and Siesta, who was actually a fair bit away, near a cart—was practicing spells.

Johan leaned against a tree, observing his student.

She was panting lightly, so she'd been practicing her homeland's magic. "Okay," she called out, wiping her forehead, "a few more times and then we're done."

"Alright. Tell me when!" Siesta answered, reaching into the cart and pulling out…a block of wood?

Johan peered closer at the scene before him.

"Okay…launch!" Louise shouted.

Siesta nodded, spinning in place a few times, holding the block of wood low. Then, with a quick grunt, Siesta launched the block of wood into the air. High into the air.

Johan craned his head up, eyes wide as the block of wood cleared the tree line.

"Ardent Lance!" Louise exclaimed. Then, a small spear of fire shot up at the wood, burning it to ashes.

Derflinger whistled, "That's…something."

"Indeed," Johan hummed, returning his attention to Siesta, who was preparing to throw another piece of wood up into the air. Five more times, Siesta heaved a log of wood into the air for Louise to target. It was only on the fifth run that Louise's spell failed in its usual manner, blowing the wood to splinters in an explosion.

Louise loosed a loud ragged sigh, falling on her back, panting heavily. Siesta quickly ran over, bending down to give Louise a water skin. The young mage smiled gratefully and accepted the drink. The two then started to converse, during which Johan decided to slip away.

Derflinger was the first one to break the silence on the way back to camp. "You saw what I saw, right?"

"Yes."

"She must've tossed those logs at least fifty feet into the air."

"Yes."

"That is not normal."

At that, Johan paused, staring quizzically at Derflinger. "You're a talking blade, by what right can you dictate what is normal?"

Derflinger snickered, "Fair enough. Still though," he said as Johan began walking once more, "between this, and all that wood she chopped earlier…there's a lot of strength packed in that little body."

Johan hummed, stroking his beard. "Indeed."

**A/N: I'm just making up Alchemical ingredients. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Home

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

"Why can't we travel along the main roads?"

"Because it's boring."

"It's faster."

"It's  _boring_."

"It's faster!"

"I'd like to walk along a straight, even path, myself."

Louise and Johan turned to face Siesta

"Thank you," the student said.

"Not a chance," the master said.

Louise glared at her master, "You said we were less than twenty miles away this morning. I think we can afford to travel along the main roads now."

Johan leaned back, rubbing stroking his beard, "I did say that, didn't I?" He reached forward, ignoring Louise's protests and pulling out the map held within her pack, "Let's see…yes," he lowered the map, placing a finger on it, "Just before dawn I said that we were twenty miles away here. Then, we travelled in this direction," he trailed his finger along the map, "at a standard pace for five hours, thirteen minutes, and eight seconds, took a break for lunch that lasted one hour, nine minutes, and thirty-four seconds, and continued walking along for…four hours, fourty-four minutes, and…twelve…thirteen…fourteen…"

"Stop that!" Louise shouted.

"How do you know those times?" Siesta asked, bewildered.

Johan smirked wryly, but Louise answered, "His family makes timepieces for a living, apparently."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Louise eyed her master, and then shifted her gaze to the map, "So, where are we now? There has to be a road nearby." Her shoulders dropped as she saw where he was pointing on the map. Tarbes did seem close, but they were in the middle of a forest. There were roads, but on either side of their position; she begrudgingly admitted it'd be faster to keep their current course.

Siesta came up beside them, peering at the map.

Johan grunted, "Recognize where we are?"

Siesta shrugged, "Sort of."

"You've never explored the area, as a child?"

Siesta shook her head, "Not this side of the forest; growing up, I spent most of my time around…here," she said, pointing to a section of the forest on the other side of Tarbes.

Louise quirked a brow, "Why?"

"It's where—!" she paused, "Eh…it's important to my family." Before either Louise or Johan could question her further, she added, "it's not my place to say, please don't ask."

Johan furrowed his brow, "Please tell me you're not cannibals."

Louise gagged, and Siesta frantically waved her arms in front of her, "N-No! No, of course not!"

Louise's master sighed, then chuckled, "Good, good."

Louise pinched the bridge of her nose, "Do I even want to know why?"

Johan titled his head, "…Probably not."

"I'd like to know, actually," Derflinger said from Johan's hip.

"Well," the elder mage said, folding up the map, "it's actually a fairly funny story. At the start, at least. It all began when I saw a priest arguing with—" Louise did her best to tune him out as he walked ahead.

Staying a fair bit behind her master, Louise struck up a conversation with Siesta. She asked the young Commoner, "What do you plan on doing, once you get home?"

Siesta sighed, "Go back to work on the farm, I suppose."

Louise frowned; Siesta hadn't been hesitant to voice the fact that she hated working on her family's farm. "You won't try and get another job outside your village? Didn't you say your uncle owned a tavern?"

Siesta snorted, "After what happened with Count Mott, I doubt my parents are ever going to let me out of their sight ever I again."

Louise swiveled her head towards Siesta, "You're going to tell them?"

Siesta cocked a brow, "Why wouldn't I?"

Louise began to reply, only to stop.  _She_  certainly wouldn't tell her parents if she'd entered a similar situation; while she could expect some sympathy from her father, her mother would just reprimand her for getting into such a situation and declare the matter over. But Siesta's parents certainly did not sound like anything close to the Duke and Duchess de Vallière. No, they sounded infinitely better.

Louise caught herself, and violently shook her head; what was she thinking? Siesta's parents were Commoners, people without any true, Founder-given responsibility. They weren't burdened with a (supposed) stain to their Noble bloodline.

She clenched her fists, " _I'll show them_ ," she swore, " _I'm not a waste; I am worthy of my name!"_

"Louise," Siesta's voice brought her back to reality, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Louise gruffly stated. She could see Siesta's concerned frown out of the corner of her eye, but thankfully the young woman let the matter drop.

As they continued on, no more words exchanged between them, Louise's heart grew a little heavier. They'd say goodbye to Siesta after today. Louise wasn't looking forward to that. Despite everything—the circumstances of their meeting, their backgrounds—she'd become friends with the Commoner. Though she was not able to sustain the long, magical debates and discussions Master Johan was capable of, Siesta was simply…pleasant to be around. Plus, it was nice to be able to hold a conversation with someone that not multiple years her age, or a sentient weapon.

It'd be…tough, to say goodbye to her, Louise realized. She stifled a laugh; what a poor excuse for a Noble she was, getting worked up over parting with a Commoner. But then, she'd never been a particularly great Noble, so what did it matter who she made friends with. Not like she could drag her family's name further through the mud.

A wide grin split across her face; of course, her previous transgressions would be a thing of the past once she revealed her newly formed skills.

"Hey!" Louise perked her head up to see Johan atop a hill further ahead, "I can see Tarbes!" he said.

Siesta gasped, and broke out into a sprint, momentarily leaving Louise where she stood. "W-Wait!" the young mage shouted, "Don't leave me behind!"

She caught up with the others quickly enough, squinting her eyes when she reached the crest of the hill. "So," she said, looking over the drab, weathered mass of buildings, "this is Tarbes."

Siesta nodded, wiping her eyes, "Yeah…"

Louise leaned forward, "Where's your family's farm?"

Siesta took a moment to look around, "…There," she said, pointing towards the southern edge of the village.

Louise followed her finger, narrowing her eyes at the large mass of brown in between the forest and the town. She then gasped, "Does  _all_  that land belong to your family?"

Siesta shrugged, "Technically it belongs to the local Nobility," she then scoffed, "not that they'd know what to do with it."

Johan hummed, "The season is still ripe, was there a famine?"

Louise blinked, and felt a little guilty that she hadn't considered that. Thankfully, Siesta's next words assuaged her of that guilt. "No," she said, "but it means Father's experiment failed."

"Experiment?" Johan parroted.

Siesta nodded, "He'd come into some Germanian crop seeds a few months ago; last he wrote me, he was in the middle of seeing if it was viable to grow." She hummed, "He said the individual plots did fairly well, but I suppose it didn't transfer well to the actual fields."

Louise crossed her arms, tilting her nose up, "Well, what else would you expect from  _Germanian_  crops?"

She could feel two sets of eyes, technically three, focus on her. The blade then asked, " _What_  is your deal with that country?"

Louise blushed angrily as she remembered a certain harlot, and she could see Siesta's eyes narrow in what she assumed to be recognition. Thankfully, her friend kept silent, and Johan dropped the matter by saying, "Will your family be alright, after wasting their field on a failed crop?"

"I'm sure their fine," Siesta answered, "It's the smallest field, and they didn't mention anything bad happening to the other crops."

"There's more?!" Louise shrieked. Siesta grunted in affirmation and started to point out the rest of the land her family farmed on. It was easily half as large as the town itself.

Even Johan seemed stupefied, "Uh…how large is your family?"

"Ten. Well, twenty-eight if you include all my aunts, uncles, and cousins that still live in Tarbes." She snapped her fingers, "Make that thirty; Aunt Margot just gave birth to twins."

While Louise reeled at how large Siesta's family was, Johan asked, "That's…do you hire workers?"

"No." Siesta started to walk down the hill, "Well, we used to, apparently—when my great-grandfather was getting closer to death—but none of them ended up getting the job done properly." She shrugged, "It's just easier if we do it ourselves, I suppose."

As Siesta none-too-hurriedly made her way to her hometown, Louise and Johan exchanged puzzled glances. Then, Johan shrugged, and made his way down. Louise stayed in place for a moment, before sighing, and moving along herself.

**LINE BREAK**

Siesta could hardly contain her glee as she walked through the familiar paths of her village. There weren't too many people outside—it was getting close to sundown—but she did take the time to smile and wave at those she recognized still out and about.

"Siesta? Is that you?" The young girl turned, smiling softly and waving at Mr. Stephen, the town's baker. "It is!" the elderly man cried, hobbling closer.

"Mr. Stephen," Siesta said with a short bow, "it's good to see you again!"

"And you as well," the baker responded enthusiastically. He then frowned, "But…what are you doing back home?"

Siesta hoped she kept the grimace off her face, "O-Oh, I was just feeling a little homesick."

Mr. Stephen hummed idly, but thankfully let the matter drop in favor of looking over her shoulder, "And you're…friends?"

Siesta looked behind her and stifled a laugh. Johan, at least, wasn't  _acting_  out of place. Though no one would look at him—with his large stature, grey cloak, and immaculate facial hair—and think he was a Tarbes native, he carried himself at a leisurely pace. He was even holding a light-hearted conversation with a few young children. Louise, though, stood out like a sore thumb.

Her spine was rigid, arms held close to her body. She kept darting her head from person-to-person, building-to-building, as though she was afraid something was going to pop-out and attack her. What people would attempt to strike-up conversation with her quickly scurried away under her stoic stare.

Siesta gestured to the pair, "I…met them on my way home. They offered to escort me back to Tarbes."

"Hmm, awful generous of them," the old man said suspiciously. Siesta chuckled nervously but kept quiet.

The two mages made their way over, Johan nodding his head at Mr. Stephen. "Greetings," he said, holding his hand out, "I am Johan, and this is Louise." The young girl looked a little perturbed at the lackadaisical introduction but was too engrossed with her surroundings to make any comment.

Mr. Stephen stared wide-eyed at Johan for a moment, before blinking, and shaking the offered limb, "Hello, I'm Stephen."

Johan smiled, then looked between Siesta and Mr. Stephen, "Are you two…" he trailed off.

Siesta gently waved her hand, "No, no. Mr. Stephen is just a friend of the family." She turned to the man, "Speaking of, how are they? I saw the dead field from the hill."

The baker looked at her, though still kept Johan in his vision, and said, "Well enough, I suppose. Your father keeps on grumbling about it whenever he comes into town, but I don't think they've had any other problems." Siesta nodded happily; she'd suspected as much, but it was nice to get her hopes confirmed.

"Siesta," the young girl turned to the large man, "would you like to reacquaint yourself with the village, or are we heading straight to your home?"

Siesta thought for a moment, then shook her head, "I'd like to meet my family now."

Johan nodded, "Very well. This way, yes?" he gestured down the road. When Siesta nodded, he said a quick goodbye to Mr. Stephen, and gently guided Louise away.

Siesta made to follow, only to pause at the odd look on the baker's face. "Mr. Stephen," she said, "what's wrong?"

The older man shook his head, "Oh, it's nothing. Just," he chuckled, "I always thought your great-grandfather would be the tallest man I'd ever seen!" Siesta cocked a brow—she'd never met the man, and the one portrait they had of him didn't give any hint towards his size.

"Siesta!" The Tarbes-native turned at Johan's voice, "are you coming, or what?" She pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind, muttering a quick goodbye to Mr. Stephen before catching up with her escorts.

The three humans—and one sentient blade, Siesta reminded herself—continued along the way to her family farm. It was on this path that Siesta felt all the tension of the last few weeks roll off her body. With every familiar, rock, tree, post, or some other marker, her heart grew lighter and lighter.

Culminating in seeing a familiar figure leading some mule-drawn carts full-to-bursting with produce.

A wide smile split across her face, and she broke into a sprint, cupping her hands over her mouth. "Father!" she cried.

The adult whirled around, and Father dropped his goad in shock. He then turned back around, quickly calming the pack-animals to a stop. By the time he turned back, Siesta leapt into his arms. He staggered a bit but kept his footing. "What in the—Siesta?!" he said, "Wh—"

She cut him off by clutching him closer, pressing her face against his shoulder, "Oh, I've missed you so much!" She sniffled slightly, and for a moment she was afraid she was crying.

Those fears held true, as Father, gently pried her off, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "Wha—sweetie, what's going on?" he asked as he gently wiped away her tears, "Why are you here, why are you crying?"

Siesta opened her mouth to reply, but no words could come out of her mouth. Instead, she smiled shakily, enveloping him in another tight hug.

She could feel him hesitate for a moment, but in the end, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, softly whispering that it was okay, and she was safe.

The young girl couldn't say how long she stayed there, in the arms of her father, but when she heard him take a sharp breath, and felt him tighten his already firm grip on her, she realized that she needed to move.

She slowly pushed back, smiling reassuringly at Father, "It's fine, they're with me." He narrowed his eyes slightly, but nevertheless rose to his feet, bringing Siesta up with him. Siesta took a moment to dust off her clothes, and then gestured to the two mages before them. "This is Johan," the large man waved jovially, "and Louise," the young mage nodded jerkily. "They…escorted me home."

He sent her a look that screamed, 'we'll talk later'. He then walked up to Johan, looking up at him for a moment before sticking his hand out, "Don't really know why, but thank you for brining my daughter home."

Johan smiled widely, giving Father's hand a firm shake, "It was no problem. Siesta's a delightful young girl; you should be proud."

"Oh, we are," Father easily replied.

Siesta smiled at his words, only to frown as a hurt look quickly spread across Louise's face. The young Commoner felt pity for her Noble friend, and anger towards her friend's parents. Not that that anger could ever go anywhere, admittedly.

"…please, come to our home," she homed in on her father's words, "The least I can do is offer you dinner."

"That'd be lovely. Right, Louise," he said, gently shoving his student's shoulder.

"Hmm? Yes!" Louise said, startled, "Lovely! It sounds! Yes!"

Father stifled a chuckle. He turned back to the carts, gesturing to them, "Feel free to grab a seat, the main house is a bit of a walk."

Louise perked up at that, only for Johan to place a hand on her shoulder, "Thank you, but we'll walk."

"Hu—bu—WHAT?!" Louise shrieked.

"It's really no trouble," Father insisted, "Ally, Remy, Cyril, and Red, can handle the extra weight."

Johan laughed heartily, "I've no doubt. But Louise won't build up her stamina otherwise!"

Louise glared at her master and raised her arms up to strangle him. She only got up to his collarbone.

Johan grinned toothily, reaching down to ruffle Louise's hair, messing it up. Siesta giggled, only to cut herself off with a cough when Louise turned her irate glare towards her.

The pink-haired noble glared for a bit longer, before dropping her shoulders with a sigh. She started to walk, only to stumble when Johan laid a hand on her shoulder. Louise turned to glare at him, only for her expression to soften as he grabbed her pack off her back. He slid his own pack off and placed them both on one of the carts. The young mage rolled her shoulders, nodding at Johan, and starting the walk home.

"Siesta." The young girl turned to see her father gesturing to one of the carts.

But she shook her head, staring after Louise, "…I think I'll walk as well."

Father's nose scrunched in confusion, but he shrugged and turned back to the animals, goading them onward.

Siesta hurried to match pace with Louise, exchanging a quick smile with her.

**Line Break**

"You're hair's so pretty!"

"Are you sure you're an adult, you're pretty short!"

"Your eyes are weird!"

"Is that a knife?"

"Why do you have a stick strapped to your leg?"

"Children, children!" Siesta's mother called, "Leave the poor girl alone."

Johan silently laughed as Louise was overwhelmed by Siesta's younger siblings and cousins. The young mage was so out of her depth she was sinking to the bottom; thankfully, she didn't look too annoyed by their words and actions.

The old mage took a moment to smile softly; it had been too long since he'd been in such a warm environment. Siesta's family was as large as she'd said, with the children outnumbering the adults at least two-to-one. Thankfully for their sanity, only a handful were younger than ten years. But more than that, he could feel the love they shared for each other; if only because everyone immediately came together to hold a small feast over Siesta's return.

"Oh god," Derflinger mumbled from his sheath, "I think I know where Siesta got her cooking skills. Why am I cursed so; I have no mouth, but I must eat!"

One of the older children—Siesta's brother, Julien—perked his head up, "Who said that?"

"Who said what?" a cousin—Lisa—asked.

"Something about eating."

"Probably Bertha."

"I did not, shut up!" Bertha—a plump young girl—shouted.

"Well someone said it,"

"You're just hearing things," another of Siesta's sibling—Sofie—said.

"Am not."

"Maybe," Lisa said in a coy tone, "all that time staring after Sarah has rotted his brain."

Julien's face morphed into a scowl, "She's just a friend, Lisa!"

"Oh, so you moan friend's names in your sleep, then?"

As Julien stammered, face flushing, Bertha came to her cousin's aid, "Like you're any better." As Lisa scowled murderously, Bertha mocked, "'Oh, Archie, you're  _sooo_  strong! I could  _never_  have lifted those barrels onto the cart without your big, rippling muscles!'"

Sofie burst into laughter, "You did  _what_?"

"At least I can  _speak_  with the man I like!" Lisa snapped back, prompting Sofie to growl lowly.

"So, Siesta," Johan tore himself away from the burgeoning brawl as one of Siesta's uncles began speaking, "what brings you here so soon? I thought you weren't going to get leave until the Academy's school year ended?"

"That's right dearie," his wife—Siesta's blood-relative, based on her coloring—nodded, "and you didn't even send a letter."

Siesta stilled, clenching her mug tightly in her hands. The adults, that is to say, the parents, in the room immediately tensed up, concern shining in their eyes. Siesta's father—Marcus, Johan recalled—turned to his sister, nodding sharply.

The woman rose to her feet, clapping her hands, "Children!" she called, "I think I heard a few griffons flying overhead."

"GRIFFONS?!" the younger children screeched. They immediately scrambled for the front door, and the adults quickly led the older children outside, to their bemusement.

Louise resisted the crowd, but when she locked eyes with Johan, he nodded solemnly at her, after which she frowned, going outside with the rest. Then, all that were left in the house here Johan himself, Siesta, her father, and her mother—Jessie.

Her parents quickly moved over to Siesta, kneeling down to hug her. "Siesta, honey," Jessie began, "what's wrong?"

Siesta tried to keep a brave face, but she was shaking. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, and her eyes started to water.

Marcus turned to face Johan, face set in stone, "What's going on?"

But Johan kept his gaze fixed on Siesta. When the young girl flicked her eyes upward, the man said, "If you wish, I can tell them."

That grew confused grunts from Marcus and Jessie. Siesta, though, took a steadying breath, and said, "I can do it."

Thus, Johan leaned back into his chair, keeping silent as Siesta told her tale. She kept her tone even throughout, to her credit, only breaking when speaking of Osmund and Mott, in anger and despair, respectively. Of her parents, Jessie had the most outward reaction, crying out and fiercely hugging her daughter as tears streamed down her face. Marcus, though, kept still, his only reaction being the blood draining from his face.

When she finished, Siesta shifted in her seat, allowing her mother to hug her tighter, which she reciprocated. Marcus, meanwhile, shakily turned to Johan. "W-W-W—" he gulped, "Why?"

At that, Johan shrugged, "It was the right thing to do."

"But—"

"Marcus!" Jessie suddenly shouted, "What are you saying? That he should have just ignored Siesta, let her be—be—be," she broke out into sobs.

Marcus rushed forward, joining Siesta in soothingly rubbing Jessie's back, "No, no of course not!" he said. "It's just," he turned back to Johan, "You  _killed_  a  _Noble_!"

A scoff, "Considering what he wanted to do—what he'd  _been_  doing," Johan amended, "Noble is the last word I'd use to describe the former Count Mott." At the man's still stricken expression, Johan sighed, "Think about this logically; the last anyone'd seen of your daughter, she ran away in the middle of night as a storm raged on. I staged his death to look like a suicide—albeit a sloppy one." He waved his hand in the air, "Even if someone suspects foul-play, they'd have to make some serious leaps and bounds to try and tie Siesta—an untrained young girl who was last seen running as far away from Mott as possible—to it."

Marcus pursed his lips "I suppose…"

By then, Jessie had mostly calmed down. She was still sniffling heavily, and her eyes were bloodshot, but she was able to say, "Please, nothing can ever compare to what you've done for us, but if you need anything, at all, let us know." Marcus flicked his gaze to his wife, but in the end, he only nodded in agreement.

Johan stroked his beard, humming in thought. "…I suppose we could use a solid roof over our heads. For a bit, anyway."

"Of course!" Marcus said emphatically, "We have a few rooms in the house that aren't in-use. Or you could take the barn's loft."

Johan smiled softly, "Thank you."

**Line Break**

In the end, Johan decided that he and Louise would stay in the barn. He was in the middle of setting aside spot to sleep—an few hours after speaking with Siesta's parents—when Louise finally appeared. He braced himself for a series of irate complaints, only to pause as she wordlessly climbed up the ladder and plopped down on the floor.

Derflinger, perched atop a couple haybales, spoke first. "Um…you okay, little lady?"

Louise lolled her head to the side, staring tiredly at the blade, "There's so  _many_  of them!"

Johan frowned, "You mean the young ones?" At Louise's fervent nod, Johan chuckled, "Mah lahzey, there were only six of them."

"Too many!" Louise retorted, "I don't know how anyone can stand being around them so long."

Derflinger sniggered, "That's love, little lady."

"Well," Johan said, "the adults and older children worked in shifts." At her questioning gaze, he added, "they rotated out who was spending time with the children. No one lasted more than twenty minutes."

Louise took a second to process the new information, after which she groaned loudly, banging her head back against the floor, "Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"And risk letting the young ones in on it? Certainly not," Johan teased his student.

Louise sneered lightly, then relaxed. "Master," she said, "how long are we going to stay here?"

Johan shrugged, "A few days, at least. Enough time to make  _certain_  that no one connects Siesta's disappearance with Count Mott's death."

"Wait," Derflinger started, "I thought you said that no one should be able to connect the two in that way?"

"I did, yes," Johan said, "and no one's come into town to ask questions in the time it took us to get here. But it never hurts to make sure."

"Wh—" Louise gulped, "What are you going to do if someone does come?"

The elder mage eyes his young student, "Well I'm not going to kill them, if that's what you're worried about," she none-too-subtly sighed in relief, "that'd just bring Siesta and her family under greater scrutiny. I have my ways," he added, preempting her next question.

Louise nodded, "If you say so."

Johan grunted, and moved over to his designated sleeping spot. "Good night, you two," he said as he settled in.

Louise yawned a reply, and Derflinger was already snoring. Smiling softly, Johan allowed his mind to drift off to darkness.

**A/N: For simplicity's sake, 'Mister/Miss/Missus' are used in reference to (if they lack proper titles, i.e: children) are referred to as 'Monsieur/Mademoiselle'. Also, even though she is, just, the worst, I don't think Karin would victim-blame her** _**own daughter** _ **. She does, at the end of the day, love her. But Louise doesn't know that. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

Exploration

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

" ** _DOVAHZUL"_**

**Line Break**

Louise awoke with a low yawn. She lifted her head up, squinting at the rising sun through the loft's window. She sniffed; getting up before dawn was getting easier and easier. Not that she would ever tell Johan that. The last thing that man needed was another way to needle her. She sat up, arching her back and rubbing her eyes.

When she opened them, she saw five pairs of dark eyes staring back.

Louise jumped back with a shriek. That shriek evolved to a shout as a large hand grabbed her shoulder, shoving her backwards. The sound of steel sliding against leather elicited excited gasps from the eyes.

"You do have a sword!" one of the children cried.

"See, I told you!"

"Are you a knight?"

"Can you show off some cool sword-fighting moves?"

"Can I borrow it?"

"Wha—children?" Johan mumbled into his beard.

"Hey!" a young, male voice yelled, "What are you brats doing?"

"Nothing, Julien!" the children called back.

"Nothing my foot!" Julien replied, "I  _told_  you Louise and Mr. Johan were up in the loft."

"Did you say that?"

"I thought he said, 'Don't mother the hefts in the hoft'."

"What?" Louise blurted out.

The child shrugged, "He was eating an apple."

"Why haven't you all come down yet?!" Julien shouted, after which the gaggle of children reluctantly climbed down the ladder.

By then, Johan had sheathed Derflinger, shaking his head, "Children,  _Children_ , got the drop on me!" he muttered. "If Karliah or Serana or Babette ever catch wind of this—Shor's Bones, if  _Lydia_ ever finds out…" his voice trailed off.

Louise frowned, turning towards him, "Who?"

He waved his hand at her, "Friends who never miss out on an opportunity to make fun of me." He shuddered, "Before I set about my hermitage, they'd agreed to get together every month for drinks.  _Girl time_ , the call it. I have nightmares about what they might say."

Louise grinned widely, "Can I meet them?"

"Not on your life," he quickly answered.

Louise stuck her tongue out at him and set about cleaning up her space. Not that there was much to clean.

When she and her master—who had placed Derflinger on his belt—finally made it down the ladder, Louise jerked back as the children crowded around them. Thankfully, Julien sent them up with a quick, harsh command. He then turned to the two mages, only for his eyes to widen as he got a proper look at Johan, "Woah," he breathed, "you  _are_ tall."

Johan chuckled, "So I've been told."

He frowned apologetically at the pair, "Anyway, sorry about the little ones. After about a day or two the novelty should wear off."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Johan said with a laugh.

Louise rolled her eyes, "Speak for yourself."

Julien nervously rubbed his arm and opened his mouth to say something. Only for a raucous cry—"Look out below!"—to interrupt him.

Julien yelped, and rushed forward, knocking Louise down in the process. She managed to brace herself on her hands. "Gah!" she cried, "Watch what you're—oh…"

Her anger faded as she saw Julien, arms overhead, a bale of hay in his arms. He dropped the hay with a grunt, glaring up at the loft, "What is wrong with you?!" he shouted, true anger laced in his voice.

"W-We're just doing what you told us to do," one of the children stammered.

"Did I tell you to almost kill our guests?"

"No," the children chorused mournfully.

Julien huffed, crossing his arms, "Now, which one of you did it?"

The eldest boy—which wasn't saying much, he couldn't have been older than six—of the group peered down, frowning, "It was me, cousin."

Julien angrily gestured towards Louise and Johan, "Apologize to them, Anton. Now."

The now-named Anton looked at Louise and Johan, and bowed his head, "I'm sorry…"

Julien turned to the two mages expectantly. Johan silently nodded his approval. Louise, though, kept on looking from the bale of hay to the child up in the loft. Eventually, though, she said, "Er, just don't let it happen again!"

Julien nodded, satisfied, and returned his gaze to the children, "Now, you all WAIT until our guests have left the barn. Got it?" There were mummers of agreement, "Got. It?" Julien repeated forcefully. This time he was met with a loud, resounding, 'Yes.'

Julien nervously regarded the mages, "I'm really, very sorry about that. Especially to you, Louise."

Louise instinctively cringed at the familiarity in his tone, but let it slide; it's not like he knew she was a Noble. "It's fine. They are…children, after all."

"That was an impressive catch," Johan spoke up, gesturing to the hay bale.

Julien scratched his head bashfully, "Ah, it was nothing."

"Nothing, hm?" the elder mage's gaze flitted between Julien and the hay for a moment, before he turned on his heel and exited the barn.

Julien stared after Johan for a moment, before staring questioningly at Louise. She shrugged, "He does that sometimes."

"Well, anyway," Julien said, "I gotta ask, what do you two plan on doing today?"

Louise crossed her arms, humming, "Well…Master Johan generally does whatever he wants. As for myself…" she trailed off. What would she do today? And tomorrow? And the rest of the days they decided to stay? Practice magic? She did have a few Adept-level wandless spell books she hadn't opened yet. But she wouldn't risk doing any magic where she could damage the family or the farm. Practice martial skills? That almost made her laugh.

"If you're looking for something to do," Louise perked up, looking at Julien, "I'm sure there's some odd jobs on the farm that could keep you busy." Louise's lips curled back in distaste, prompting a laugh from Julien, "Not up for farm work, huh?"

Louise shook her head, "It's…not for me," she said evenly.

"That's fair," the young man said, "It's not for a lot of people."

"Not for Siesta either," she couldn't help but say.

At that, Julien sighed, "No." Louise awkwardly stood there for a moment, and when turned to leave, he called out, "Wait!" and placed his hand on her shoulder.

Louise tensed, but resisted the urge to slap his hand away. Julien was ignorant of her blood, but he was nonetheless respectful. He saved her from a falling bale of hay. And above all else, he was Siesta's brother, and Siesta was her friend. While Louise didn't have much experience on that front, she knew that attacking a friend's sibling was a bad thing to do. Thus, she gently shrugged his hand off, turning around and staring at him expectantly.

There must have been something in her gaze, because the young Commoner blushed, holding his arms to his sides, "Eh, sorry. It's just," he looked up at the loft, and continued in w whisper, "did something happen? To Siesta," he clarified. Louise blinked, and he continued, "Maybe it's nothing but…she's back way too early, and Mom and Dad told us not to bother her when we woke up, but they wouldn't tell us why." He looked her in the eyes, and she felt a stab of guilt at his stricken expression, "Is…is she sick or something?"

Louise gulped, but held her ground, "Siesta…she is not ill. I can't say any more than that," she but him off when he opened his mouth, "but she is well. Physically."

Julien narrowed his eyes briefly, but nonetheless leaned back with a sigh, "You're sure?"

"Yes," Louise answered simply.

"…Alright," he eventually said, "I'll trust your word, I guess. Besides, if things were really bad, someone'd tell us, right?"

Louise smiled tightly, "Right."

Julien stepped back, nodding lightly, "Okay…Well, uh, you can get something to eat at the house—ah shoot!" he clicked his tongue, "Forgot to tell Mr. Johan that he can have some food at the house!"

"Oh, that's alright," Louise waved off his concerns. "He's not going to starve, I assure you. He's probably on his way there already." Julien accepted her words and waved her off with a smile. Before she left, though, she asked, "You said Siesta is still in the house?" Julien nodded, after which she thanked him, and exited the barn.

**Line Break**

"Uh, Boss? You mind telling me what you're doing, exactly?" Derflinger asked.

Johan looked down from the roof of the baker's shop to the town's center, "Listening to the town gossip."

"…From a roof?"

The Nord chuckled, "Normally I would need to be on the ground, yes. But I've read about a certain wind spell— _Words on the Breeze_."

"Let me guess," Derflinger drawled as Johan pulled out a wand, "it lets you hear people from far away?"

"Yes. But only under certain conditions. Namely, an open-air environment, and under calm and clear weather."

"Then by all means, cast away."

Johan took a quick breath, going through the necessary movements, but not putting any magic behind them. Then, he cast the spell. "Words on the Breeze," he intoned.

The tip of the wand glowed blue, and wind rushed in all around them. Then, the air started to coalesce on the wand, the light from the wand spreading outward, bending the wind into shape; a cone.

When the spell finished, Johan hummed, placing his hand on his hip. "…I guess that's it."

"So," Derflinger began, "you're supposed to put it up against your ear?"

At that, the mage frowned, "No. At least, I don't think so. The spell didn't go into detail beyond the function." Deciding to test it, he aimed the thin end of the cone down, aiming at a child sitting atop a barrel.

"—told him it was a bad idea," came a young, tinny voice through the spell, "but did his listen? Noooo. And now both of us are in trouble."

Johan moved the wand, smirking at Derflinger, "Well, what do you know?"

"Fantastic," the blade drawled, "Still don't see why we couldn't just  _talk_  to people."

Johan's smile faded slightly, "You never know what people saw when you're not around."

"Okay, that's fair," Derflinger conceded. He shifted out of his sheathe a little, "Hey, what about that guy? To the left," he added.

Johan looked down, frowning as a tense-looking young man pacing behind a house. He aimed the spell at him.

"…just do it," came his voice, "You've known each other for years, her parents like you, you've got some money saved up, even with the ring. What are you waiting for?!"

Johan leaned back with a smirk, "Just a man in love."

"Think he's talking about anyone we know?"

"Does it matter?"

"…Probably not," Derflinger said.

Thus, began the rather boring task of information gathering. Easily Johan's least favorite past-time. Karliah loved it; 'people-watching', she called it. But then, Johan supposed she'd had to have made some fun of it, given the twenty odd years she spent on the run.

Were he alone, he wouldn't even bother with such a tactic. His favorite method of rooting out potential enemies was pickpocketing whomever people for evidence. And when he did find any, he'd just blast them with a spell and run like the wind. But, he had Louise to think of. As well as Siesta and her family. Couldn't risk any of them getting hurt because of his actions. Which begged the question, what would he do if he found someone? He was being honest when he told Louise that he wouldn't just kill them. He didn't even have any slow-acting poisons that could do the job miles away from Tarbes. Of course, because Siesta, and not Johan himself, would be the person of interest, he could always go up to the hypothetical threat himself and convince them to move along. And there were always Illusion spells failing that.

" _You could Bend his Will to yours_ ," a silky voice rasped from the recesses of his mind.

Johan quickly banished the thought with a growl.

"You okay boss?" Derflinger's voice broke through his musing.

Johan nodded gruffly, "Yes, yes. Just…thinking."

"Must be some bad thoughts."

The mage snorted but said nothing. He then refocused his efforts on listening in on the townspeople.

It was getting close to noon, some five hours after starting, that Johan was considering ending his eavesdropping; no one had revealed anything pertinent to his situation thus far.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Derflinger harshly whispered as Johan lowered his wand, "Go back, to the older woman at the stall."

Johan did as asked, aiming his wand at three older woman standing around a produce stall, one behind the counter, two before it.

"…came back with two strangers?" said the woman behind the counter.

One of the other women, with a basket of what looked like wheat, nodded. "Saw it with my own two eyes—well, mostly. It was getting dark and my eyes aren't what they used to be. And they were a fair bit away from the house so I—" the woman behind the stall coughed sternly. "Right, sorry. Anyway Siesta had a child," Johan held back a laugh, "and a man escorting her to her home."

"A child was escorting her?" drawled the other woman in front of the stall, identifiable by a white bonnet.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Sandra!"

"Better question; why does it matter?" the woman behind the stall asked.

"Oh, you haven't heard, Millie?" gasped the woman with the basket.

"Your deductive skills are astounding, Beth," said Sandra.

"What haven't I heard?" Millie interrupted the burgeoning argument.

Beth returned her attention to Millie—but not before lightly glaring at Sandra—and said, "The Academy of Tristain was robbed."

"What?!" Millie screeched.

"Quiet, quiet!" Sandra and Beth hushed the other woman.

"Wha—are you sure?" Millie asked fearfully.

Sandra nodded, "William sent me a letter, saying that it would be the last one he'd be able to send for a while, on account that the Academy wants to keep word from getting out."

Millie scrunched her nose, "Wait, if they want to keep people from finding out, how could—"

"They still have carriages going to and from the Academy," Sandra supplied, "One of the drivers owed William a favor."

"Well, what was stolen?"

"William didn't say. But he wrote that it had all the older Nobles spooked."

"Oh, wait!" Beth suddenly cried, "We've gotten off topic!"

Millie sighed, "So Siesta hired a someone to escort her home after the Academy was robbed. What's it matter?"

"But it's specifically about the man that's interesting!"

"What do you mean?" Sandra asked.

"Oh, I'm surprised you don't know already!" Beth teased. "You're always going on about how attentive you are to the town."

"Beth…" Sandra said lowly.

Beth tittered slightly, and gestured the other women closer, "He was as tall as Rowley!"

Sandra immediately scoffed, "Get that cotton out of your ears!  _No one_  could be as tall as him."

"Wait," Millie said, "last night Ella was shouting that she met a giant in town. Said he had a lot of…gray fur."

Beth nodded fervently, "The man wore a dark gray cloak, and Stephen said he had a thick gray beard."

"Hold on, Stephen saw this man too?"

Beth nodded, "He talked to him."

Sandra groaned exasperatedly, "Well why didn't you lead with that?"

"Didn't think I'd have to. Friends are supposed to believe one another."

"Said the woman that  _swor_ e she saw a family of bugbears living in the trees of the western forest."

"But they did live there," Beth said emphatically. She then sniffed, "Not my fault they can't stand the odor you call perfume."

"She's right you know," Sandra suddenly said, "it's ghastly."

Millie rose to her feet, face set in a frown. She then relaxed, "Wait, wait," she sat back down, relaxing, "We got off track again." She looked up at the other two women, "Tall as Rowley?"

Beth nodded, "Stephen wouldn't stop going on about it. He had blue eyes though, and a different accent. But he was built like Rowley was, until his later years, at least."

Sandra sighed softly, "Founder, but that man had muscles. I had such a crush on him when I was a girl."

"We all had crushes on him when we were girls," Beth added.

Millie scoffed, "Our  _mothers_  had crushes on him when they were girls." That got the three women laughing uproariously. "But, he never strayed from his wife. Or future-wife, back then."

Beth nodded, "Ms. Laura was a lucky woman."

" _Very_  lucky," Sandra purred.

"Sandra!" Beth exclaimed, scandalized.

The three women's conversation quickly devolved into things decidedly less informative, so Johan cancelled the spell. He leaned back against the roof, stroking his beard, "Well, that wasn't what I was expecting."

"Sounds like you and Siesta are in the clear for now," Derflinger said.

"Yes, thank the gods for that. But now I'm curious about this 'Rowley'."

Derflinger hummed, "Well, from the sounds of things, he's dead. And he had a similar body-type to yours."

"He must have lived here for most of his life," Johan added.

"Maybe Siesta's family knows some more. They've lived in Tarbes for a few generations, right?"

Johan looked up at the sky, "Now's as good a time to head back as any." He climbed to the other side of the roof, peering down a small alley. Satisfied that no one would be walking by, he cast the Levitation spell, and slowly floated down.

**Line Break**

"Is…Is she alive?" Louise asked hesitantly.

Siesta looked up from the shirt she was mending. She peered forward, "…Yes."

"But—" Louise jumped as the elderly, short, wrinkled woman before them snored loudly. She then smacked her lips, rocked in her chair a bit, and settled back to a soundless slumber.

Siesta giggled lightly, "Nana Jules's fine." Her smile then faded, "But she has been less…here since Papa Richard passed last winter."

Louise hummed lightly, looking back at the elderly woman. She'd never known either of her grandparents. Her father's had died during a flu epidemic when he was young, and her mother's…well, the Duchess was never a big believer in sharing one's personal history.

"So," Louise began, staring at the room they were occupying, "she just spends all her time in this room?"

"She's not an invalid," Siesta said, "She can walk, with a cane. I mean, more often than not one of us will just wheel her around in her chair, but she can walk when she wants to." Siesta paused, pursing her lips, "If anything, she's saving her energy."

"For what?"

"For—!" She abruptly paused, visibly stilling.

Louise narrowed her eyes at her friend, "…Does it have to do with that part of the forest you can't talk about."

Siesta blushed heavily, but nodded nonetheless.

Louise rolled her eyes, "Fine then." She chuckled lightly, "You—your family aren't, insane cultists, right?"

Siesta chuckled, "Well, I don't think we're insane." Louise levelled her a small glare, prompting a louder laugh, "It's nothing, really. Just…you know how you Nobles keep all sorts of secrets about your families and magic and what not?"

Louise grunted bitterly; her mother and father certainly kept her in the dark about many things.

"Well, what's there, in the forest, it's personal to my family. I know it sounds disappointing, but I honestly can't tell—"

Louise held up her hands defensively, "It's fine, it's fine. Really."

Siesta sighed, smiling softly, "Thank you for understanding." She looked down at the shirt in her hands, "I think I'm just about done with this."

"Yes," Louise nodded, "Then you can move on to the next basket," she said, pointing to the basket full of clothes to Siesta's left. The young girl sighed defeatedly but continued with her mending. "Is this really what you're going to do all day?" Louise asked.

Siesta clicked her tongue, "And the next day, and the day after that.. Sooner or later I'll be put back to working on the farm—probably with the animals, I hate it the least," she added.

"Why not now, though? You're well enough, aren't you?"

Siesta chuckled mirthlessly, "Mother and Father are treating me like I'm made of glass."

"But why—Oh…" Louise remembered why they were in Tarbes, why she'd befriended Siesta, in the first place. She blushed, "It's so easy to forget about that."

"Well, you and Johan certainly make it easy to," Siesta said with a warm smile, which Louise hesitantly reciprocated. Then a sigh, "But it doesn't me Mother and Father aren't going to worry themselves sick. But hey, what else is family good for?"

Louise's face twitched as Siesta started to laugh. At least, Louise assumed it was a twitch; Siesta's soft gasp told her otherwise, "Ah! I, um, sorry, Louise. I—"

"Forget it!" Louise said a little too forcefully. As Siesta's face started to fall, Louise scoffed, "It's fine. Really." She leaned back into her chair, clutching her elbows, "I'm…my family is not your family. We all…hold ourselves in different ways."

"Stupid ways," she heard Siesta mumble beneath her breath.

Louise scowled lightly but let the comment slide. Siesta, for all her empathy, simply couldn't understand; the de Vallière family had a reputation, standards. Weakness could not be tolerated.

Even at the expense of a warm, loving home.

Siesta clicked her tongue, "Come with me," she said.

Louise blinked as Siesta rose to her feet, dropping her shirt, thread, and needle. "Wha—where?"

"Just follow," the young girl said, opening the door.

Louise slowly rose to follow, stopping briefly to look at the old woman still sleeping in her chair, "What about—"

"I'll send Sofie, just meet me outside," and with that, she left.

The old woman snored again, and Louise could sweat her eyelids fluttered lightly. But she just smiled and drifted off into a deeper sleep.

Louise carefully closed the door behind her and made her way to the front of the house. As she did, she almost ran into someone. "Watch i—oh, it's you," said Siesta's sister, Sofie.

Louise grunted at the lackadaisical greeting. "Siesta told you to watch over your grandmother?"

Sofie nodded, "Yup." She then crossed her arms with a huff, "Not even back a day and she's already putting off work."

Louise opened her mouth to defend her friend but paused when she saw Sofie's lips twitch upward. The young mage coughed awkwardly, "I'll be on my way then."

"Stay safe," Sofie called out as they went their separate ways.

She soon met Siesta outside. The young Commoner nodded, turning around, "We're going up there," she said, pointing to her left.

Louise turned accordingly, frowning, "A windmill?"

Her friend nodded wordlessly and gestured for her to follow.

When they reached the windmill, Louise paused at the sight of a giant stone wheel, attached to a thick log reaching up further into the windmill, slowly rolling along a raised platform. "What's this?" she blurted out.

Siesta regarded her curiously, "It's the grain mill."

"How is—is the wind moving it?"

At that, Siesta blanched. She then sniggered into her hand, "D-Do you not know what windmills do?"

Louise blushed heavily, "I never really gave it much thought."

Siesta shook her head amusedly, "Whatever. Ladder's over here." She pointed behind her, revealing a well-made, if worn, ladder leading further up the mill. "You go first," she said.

Louise quickly climbed up the ladder, coming to a stop at a dark attic.

"Scooch over a bit."

"Ah, sorry," Louise shifted over, allowing Siesta to enter the loft. The young Commoner moved forward, "Now, where are…aha!" There was a loud click, and a door swung outwards, light flooding the room. "Just through here," Siesta said.

Louise gingerly climbed through the door, blinking through the sunlight. When her eyes finally adjusted, all she could do was let out a soft, "Oh."

They were at the top of the windmill—which made sense, Louise supposed—and from there, they could see the entirety of the farm lands. Not that there was much to look at; most of the area was brown dirt.

"I know it doesn't look like much now," Siesta laughed, as though having read Louise's thoughts, "But just before we begin the harvests, about a month ago, now—when everything's fully grown and ripe for picking—it's…stunning."

Louise considered that; imagined the different colors and shapes that could cut through the earth.

She didn't see the appeal.

But she didn't say anything; not when Siesta looked so peaceful. Instead, she sat with her friend in silence, staring out into the horizon as the wind flowed through her air.

**A/N: I don't know which continuity (Light Novel, Anime, etc.) it's in, but in (at least) one of them, Siesta's family enshrined the plane her great-grandfather crash-landed in. And that…it honestly makes no sense. Like, in the at least 50 years the man was alive, no Noble ever took an interest in this strange metal 'dragon' (as they call it) that a (supposed) Commoner claimed to fly in on. I mean, at the very least her great-grandfather would have been detained and interrogated for information. Especially because the Romalian Popes have proven to be pretty insane when it comes to protecting what they view as the world order. Just doesn't make a lot of sense. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

History

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

Johan stared out into the expansive woods. “What secrets do you hold?” he mumbled into his beard.

 

“Maybe there’s a mine full of jewels and ore? In case the harvests fail?” Derflinger supplied.

 

“No,” Johan shook his head, “not with the proximity to the town. Someone else would have found it by now.”

 

“Good point.” Derflinger hummed, “…Maybe it’s some old ruins? Or a dilapidated fort?”

 

“Then why the secrecy?” Johan replied, “Why would Siesta act so spooked at her slip-up?”

 

“Maybe it’s important to the family?” The blade chuckled, “Maybe they’re descended from Nobles, and whatever’s in the forest is the only link to their old life.”

 

Johan guffawed, “Yes! And the Academy of Tristain is a respectable institution!”

 

Derflinger erupted in laughter, “Oh…I still can’t believe you just stole _every_ item in their library!”

 

“I left the furniture,” Johan said cheekily, though his smile faded somewhat, “Ah, I can’t even take much pride in that theft.”

 

“Oh, is that guilt I hear?”

 

A scoff, “Not on your life!” The otherworldly-mage shook his head, “It was just…so _easy_.” He swept his arms grandly, “Thievery, _true_ thievery, comes in the challenge! Improvisation! That was like…like…I can’t even think of a comparison.”

 

“Graverobbing?”

 

“No, that can actually get fairly difficult.”

 

“Oi! Is that you, Mr. Johan?”

 

The Nord looked over his shoulder to see Alan, one of Siesta’s biological uncles, riding in on a mule-drawn cart full of dirty tools. He waved, “Just Johan is fine.”

 

Alan nodded, bringing the cart to a stop. “Okay then, ‘Just Johan’,” The man said with a smirk.

 

Johan chuckled lightly, “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

 

“That you did!” Alan hopped off the cart, walking over towards him. “Now, what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

 

The mage shrugged, turning back to the forest, “Just passing the time.”

 

Alan hummed, staring out into the forest as well. Giving Johan the opportunity to look the man over. He, like all of Siesta’s blood-related relatives, had dark eyes, dark hair, and pale skin. And from what, admittedly little, he’d seen of Siesta’s remaining grandparent—Juliet, he believed her name was—though her hair was faded to white, she too had dark eyes—albeit milky and failing, given the way she leaned her head forward and glared at everything. Now, normally, this wouldn’t be any issue. Families tend to look alike. But… _everyone_ who shared blood shared _three_ distinct traits. Siesta had seven— _seven!_ —siblings and none of them had their mother’s brown hair or eyes. Everything else, though, lined up with how he knew bodily inheritance worked; Julien was a dead ringer for his father, save for his rounder eyes; Sofie had her mother’s soft nose, but her father’s sharp eyes; Siesta herself had her mother’s facial structure, etc., etc. 

 

“Er, might as well tell you now,” Alan’s voice shook Johan out of his musings, “but Mark and Jess told us what you did. For Siesta.”

 

Johan grunted, turning to look at the farmer. His eyes were downcast, though he did take quick peeks up at him every now and then, and he was nervously twiddling his thumbs. A chuckle, “Let me guess; none of you had me pegged for a mage?”

 

 Alan breathed out a nervous laugh, “You certainly paint a _very_ different picture of mages than we’re all used to. That kid of yours, though…she hides it well, but I’ve seen those eyes in people twice her size.”

 

Johan frowned lightly, he’d hoped he was the only one to notice that. But all he said was, “Louise is not my child.”

 

Alan waved his hand, “Right, right. Anyway, the, eh, mage bit was certainly a shock. But…” he trailed off.

 

Johan frowned, a thought coming to life. “Is it the fact that I’m a murderer, or who I killed?”

 

Alan spluttered, “Man, you just go for the throat, huh?” He pulled at his collar, “…You said Siesta wouldn’t be a suspect, how can you be sure of that?”

 

“Well,” Johan began, “Like I told your brother, I staged Mott’s death to look like a suicide.”

 

“How do you even do that” the man incredulously interrupted.

 

The mage sent the man a pointed stare, “Do you really want to know?” Alan quickly shook his head, paling. “Also,” Johan continued, “like I said, someone would need to try _really_ hard to tie Siesta to his death.”

 

“B-But won’t his other servants tell people what happened?”

 

“You’re assuming they’re going to stick around after they found out he’d dead?”

 

“You think they won’t?”

 

A scoff, “I might not have known much about Mott, but I recognize the type of man he was. They don’t inspire much loyalty after death; I wouldn’t be surprised if his manor was stripped of everything not nailed down as everyone fled.”

 

“If you say so…” Alan trailed off.

 

“It also took us a week to get here from Mott’s estate,” Johan added, “and no one’s come into town asking questions, right?” At Alan’s nod, he said, “I also spent the last few hours checking around town for any rumors of Mott’s passing and Siesta’s potential involvement. There was nothing.”

 

“Okay, okay!” Alan exclaimed softly, “I get the point! Siesta’s safe.” He nodded gruffly, “All that matters in the end, I suppose.”

 

Johan agreed. He let the silence hang between them for another moment, before saying, “I did hear something else, though.” At Alan’s inquisitive grunt, he continued, “Apparently, I share stature with a dead man named ‘Rowley’.”

 

A nod, “Yeah…you’re about as tall as Gramps.”

 

“He was your grandfather?” Johan hadn’t expected that.

 

“Oh yeah.” Alan peered up at him, “Those of us who knew him saw the resemblance immediately, and I’m sure you saw the way Ma was looking at you last night.”

 

“That’s what that was?” Johan mumbled into his beard. Aloud, he said, “I thought her eyes were failing her.”

 

“Oh, they are, but she wanted a good look at you.” The farmer gestured to the mage, “But the only similarities you two have is in your height.”

 

“Really now?”

 

“Oh, yeah!” Alan nodded, “Grampa was actually a bit taller than you, and had a lot more muscle on his body—before he got old, at least. His skin was a touch paler too. And, I’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s the one we get the eyes from.”

 

“You _do_ all share that. And the hair.”

 

Alan pulled at one of his dark locks of hair, “Mh-hm. Don’t really see hair this dark in Tristain. More common out in Germania, I think.”

 

“He was a foreigner?”

 

A shrug, “Yeah. Not that anyone ever held it over us; at least, none of the townsfolk. Local nobility didn’t think too highly of a hulking mass of muscle and steel stumbling through the forest.”

 

“’Stumbling through the forest’?” Johan repeated.

 

Alan grunted, waving his hand dismissively, “There was some petty power struggle near a hundred years ago. Mercenaries and wandering warriors were commonplace. One day—night, actually—Gramps wandered in, armor all banged up and bloody, and passed out right in front of the town’s well. Years passed, he got married to Granny, and had Ma and her siblings.” Alan paused, frowning, “He was always tight-lipped about what he did before settling down with Grandma. Between you and me,” he said in a low whisper, “I’m pretty sure he was fighting for the other side before finding his way to Tarbes.”

 

“But he stayed? Assuming he wasn’t a mercenary, why not go back to join his army?”

 

“I…I don’t really remember the whole story, to be honest. Ma could tell you,” his voice grew soft, a tad sullen, “If you catch her at a good time, at least.”

 

Johan hummed, but stayed silent. He’d certainly give it a try; but he wasn’t about to get his hopes up. He did, however, want to press his luck. “So,” he began, “What’s out in the forest?”

 

Alan froze. “W-W-Wh-W-What are you talking about?” The man stammered.

 

Johan flippantly gestured to the tree line, “Siesta—”

 

“She told you?!” he screamed.

 

The mage stared blankly at the man, “…She let slip that something in there is important to your family but stopped herself short of saying what it was.”

 

“A-Ah…”

 

“Word to the wise; if you want to keep secrets, try not to shout out if you suspect someone gave up the game.”

 

Alan chuckled weakly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He cleared his throat, “But, I…can’t tell you what’s out there.” Johan was about to nod in understanding, when he continued, “And I’m going to have to ask that you don’t go snooping around either.”

 

Johan suppressed the urge the smile; as if that had ever stopped him before. But, no one ever said Johan Stormcrown was an ungrateful guest…Well, no, plenty of people had said that. Sometimes, it was justified. Still, he liked these people, so he supposed he could respect their wishes.

 

**Line Break**

 

“Sweetie,” Siesta perked her head up towards her mother, “Your father wants to have a word with you.” She looked down at the almost mended dress in her lap, the last one from the pile.

 

“Sure,” she replied, “tell him to grab a seat, almost done with yesterday’s basket”.

 

“Not here,” her mother simply said.

 

Siesta nodded, not looking up from her dress, “Okay, give me a minute.”

 

“Now, Siesta,” her mother said forcefully. Instinctively flinching, Siesta rose to her feet, carefully setting the dress aside.

 

Mother beckoned her further into the house without a word. Normally, Siesta would have said something, but there was something about her mother—her hurried steps, her stiff back—that kept her silent. They ended their little journey at her parent’s room, and a chill ran down her spine as the door opened to reveal her father, Uncle Alan, Aunt Margot, Aunt Sylvia, and Uncle Lou; their dark eyes blank and cool as coal.

 

Her mother held the door open, looking at her expectantly, “In you go.” When Siesta didn’t move a muscle, she smiled placatingly, “You aren’t in trouble.”

 

“You really aren’t,” Father said, “we just want to talk to you about your, uh, friends.”

 

Siesta gulped, paling. Had Johan done something? Louise mentioned that he wanted to ‘make sure all was well’. While she hadn’t known the man all that long, she knew that he had a very…specific skill-set. One that could spell trouble for, well, everyone involved. She did her best to push that out of her mind, however, and turned to Aunt Margot, “How are the twins?” she asked, cringing as her voice cracked a bit.

 

Her aunt’s stony visage cracked. She smiled softly, “Oh, Ricky and Thomas are doing fine. They’re both such quiet things; much less rowdy than Lisa was at their age. I think they’ll be ready for a visit to the Cairn in a week, maybe less.”

 

Siesta smiled in turn—it’d been a good few years since they’d all visited the Cairn.

 

“But we’re not here to talk about that,” Aunt Margot’s smile vanished in an instant, as did Siesta’s.

 

Father spoke next, “According to Johan, you let something slip about _something_ in the western forest.”

 

The young girl quickly shook her head. “I didn’t say anything specific!” she exclaimed.

 

“Easy, easy,” Uncle Alan said, “He said as much, and I don’t see any reason to doubt him. Or you.” Siesta breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

“The question is, can we trust him—and Louise—to keep silent about it?” her Father added.

 

Siesta furrowed her brow, then gasped. “You want to bring them to the Cairn?”

 

“Well, we’re certainly not going to put it _off_ for them. Would have gone sooner if Anton hadn’t caught that cold.” Aunt Sylvia said, side-eyeing Uncle Lou.

 

He sighed, hanging his head, “For the last time, that was _not_ my fault!”

 

“You’re the one that let him run around in the rain.”

 

“ _Let_ him?”

 

“Do you think we shouldn’t tell them?” Father said, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. When Aunt Syliva and Uncle Lou sent him sharp looks, he merely cocked a brow. The two siblings blushed, prompting a laugh from Aunt Margot and Uncle Alan.

 

Siesta looked down at her feet, silent. She didn’t think she’d have vouch for someone knowing about the Cairn for a few more years at least. Founder, she’s only known Johan and Louise for a little over a week. But what a week it’d been. “…Yes,” she quietly said, lifting her head up, “I think we can trust them.”

 

Uncle Lou grunted, “Johan, sure. He’s proven to be a decent man. That girl on the other hand.”

 

“Louise is a good friend,” Siesta automatically defended the young Noble.

 

“No one’s saying she isn’t,” Uncle Alan said sympathetically, “But…you gotta admit, she wears a sneer pretty well.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Siesta asked with a scoff. So, what if Louise…fell back to old habits when one of the kids tracked mud into the house, or when she was handed a glass of somewhat cloudy water. She was still a good person, deep down.

 

“How do we know that she won’t tell whatever family’s waiting back in her mansion about the Cairn?” Aunt Sylvia asked critically.

 

Siesta’s scowl darkened at the mention of Louise’s ‘family’. “Trust me, she won’t.”

 

“You really think she’d be willing to turn a blind eye for a bunch of us Commoner’s?” Uncle Lou scoffed.

 

The young girl clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, “She owes nothing to those people.”

 

“They’re still her parents,” Aunt Margot stated bluntly, “That’s not a bond so easily set aside.”

 

Siesta wanted to retort that what Louise’s ‘parent’s’ let happen to her was more than enough cause to write them off, but she held her tongue. Louise’s past wasn’t hers to tell. Instead she said, “I’m sure she’ll prove you wrong.”

 

“Maybe, maybe,” Father mumbled. He nodded at her, smiling softly, “Well, thanks for you input, sweetie. We’ll let you know our decision later today.” Siesta nodded in reply, rising to give her father a quick peck on the cheek, and said her goodbyes.

 

**Line Break**

 

Louise smiled weakly as Sully—no, not Sully. Sully was the one with the big gap in his teeth. Samwell? No, Samwell wore a cap on his head. Seth? Yes, Seth! The one with the torn shirt-pocket. Founder, but there were so many of them—performed a cartwheel. He beamed up at her, “Did you see that, miss?!”

 

There was a scoff to her left. “Of course, she saw it, stupid!” came the scathing reply of…some sort of female relation .

 

A scowl marred the youth’s face, “I wasn’t talking to you, Maggie!”

 

“Well I answered all the same!” the girl jeered.

 

Seth’s face flushed with childish rage, but he merely stuck his tongue out at her in response. He then turned to Louise, anger fading, face beaming, “Want to see me do it again?”

 

Louise nodded slightly, doing her best to smile convincingly.

 

Then, a loud, shrill whistle sounded from behind them. Louise turned around to see Julien standing on the porch, along with Sofie, Lisa and Bertha. “Seth, Maggie, Albert, Samwell!” Julien shouted, “Uncle Jack needs help with the chickens! Robert, Laurie, Colin, Sandy! Aunt Anna needs help taking some things into town!”

 

“The rest of you,” Sofie yelled in a tone akin to her brothers, “inside!”

 

About half the children groaned, but they all started moving nonetheless. Seth pouted at Louise, “Shoot…” he smiled apologetically, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon!” The young boy then darted off for the henhouse.

 

Louise heard a snigger from behind her, “Aw, Seth’s got a crush!”

 

Louise’s face heated up. She whirled around, glaring at Lisa—who, Louise had discovered, was the most acerbic of Siesta’s family. Before she could tell the girl off, however, Sofie flicked her ear. “Knock it off,” she scolded, “you don’t have any room to talk, anyway.”

 

Lisa hissed, rubbing her ear and glaring at her cousin. She did, however, stay silent. Louise took the moment to ask, “What are you four doing?”

 

Julien reached down, pulling up a bucket with some hammers sticking out of it, “Northern fence needs mending.”

 

“That sounds,” Louise paused, trying to think of something nice to say.

 

“It stinks,” Bertha bluntly stated, “but someone has to do it.”

 

“Don’t suppose you can help?” Lisa said, crossing her arms and looking down her nose at Louise.

 

The young mage recognized the tone of voice—that snide sneer—and did her best to keep her face neutral.

 

“Lisa!” Sofie hissed, teeth-clenched.

 

“Oh, come on,” Lisa gestured grandly at Louise, “She’s supposed to be a mage, right? Surely, she’s got some sort of trick up her sleeve?”

 

Julien rolled his eyes, “Just ignore her,” he said to Louise, “Whatever time she spends on the farm is just another minute she’s without her ‘precious Archie’,” he mockingly simpered.

 

Lisa’s face heated up, “Oh, like you don’t count the days until you can come up with an excuse to visit Sarah!”

 

As the two entered a heated argument, Sofie and Bertha moved closer to Louise. “Lisa’s got a point,” Sofie said, “Would you be willing to do some sort of spell to fix the fence?”

 

Louise fought the urge to scowl; for Founder’s sake, why would she waste the energy mending a fence? But she did, truthfully, answer, “I don’t know of any spell that can do that sort of thing.”

 

Lisa and Betha sighed. “It’s for the best, I suppose,” Bertha said, “Don’t want to get lazy.” She turned back to Julien and Lisa, who hadn’t stopped their squabble, “I’ll get them,” she said when Sofie made to move.

 

Louise watched as Bertha walked up to Julien and Lisa, sharply tugging their ears and telling them to stop. The two glared at their cousin, only for her to sternly point Northward. The two huffed but went on their way.

 

Sofie turned to follow, briefly stopping to wave goodbye. Louise half-heartedly waved back. Then, Sofie paused, tilting her head confusedly. Louise grunted, only to look up and see that her sleeve had fallen slightly, revealing the top bit of her scar. Face flaming, Louise dropped her arm, harshly pulling her sleeve back up. Sofie narrowed her gaze suspiciously but left all the same. As the young Commoner slowly became a dot in the distance, Louise sighed raggedly.

 

“What was that all about?”

 

Louise yelped, whirling around to see a startled Siesta. “Stop that!” she shouted.

 

“Stop what?” Siesta asked, bewildered.

 

Louise gestured wildly, “Sneaking up on me!”

 

Siesta smirked, sitting down, “I’ve only done it once or twice.”

 

“You shouldn’t do it at all!” Siesta just giggled in response. Louise kept up her angry look for a moment longer, before sighing and breaking off in a soft smile.

 

Siesta sighed, face settling in a neutral expression. “Really, though, what was up with your sleeve?”

 

Louise scowled softly, “It’s nothing.” She could see Siesta frown out of the corner of her eye, and deliberately turned away—whether she knew it or not, Siesta could look like a kicked puppy at times. The kind of puppy that Cattleya would bend over backwards to help in any way possible.

 

“You know, I don’t think I ever seen you in a shirt without long sleeves.”

 

Louise sighed, but said nothing.

 

“Does it hurt?” Siesta asked, concerned.

 

Louise grit her teeth, rubbing her arm, “No.”

 

Siesta hummed, “Are you…emotionally hurt?”

 

Louise scoffed, “Can’t you just let it go?”

 

“If you really want me to.”

 

The young Noble turned to look at her friend. She was leaning back on her arms, staring out onto the farm. Louise gulped down her anxiety, cradling her arm. “…It was a little bit before we met you,” she began slowly. She heard Siesta shift slightly. “I was…rash. I left camp without informing Master Johan and ran afoul some wolves.” She quickly relayed her failing, how Master Johan had to save her, and how she ended up casting her first wandless spell (well, the first effective one, at any rate). “This,” reached for the hem of her sleeve, “is the scar that remains.” She trembled slightly, but pulled it down nonetheless.

 

True to her master’s word, the majority of the wound had healed. But there was still a jagged series of lines which made a haphazard crescent just below her wrist. Most days, she could pretend it wasn’t there.

 

Siesta reached out, only to pause, staring Louise in the eyes. The mage nodded slowly, and Siesta gently ran her fingers along the smooth, pink flesh. “Does it ever hurt?”

 

“No,” Louise pulled back, replacing her sleeve, “It did the first couple days, but not now.”

 

Her friend nodded. “Well,” she began, “as long as you’re okay, I suppose. But if I can be frank, I think you should show it off.” Louise gave her a flat look, “I’m serious!” Siesta laughed, “How many people can say that they were about to die to a pair of wolves, only to _light_ _them on fire_?”

 

A snort, “Any half-decent fire mage?”

 

“Without a wand?” Siesta needled, gently poking her ribs.

 

Louise smiled, swatting her friend’s hand away, “Okay, okay! That is sort of cool.” Her friend pulled back, beaming. Louise’s smile widened slightly. “So,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “Are you still on sewing duty?”

 

Siesta’s face fell. “Way to ruin the mood,” she grumbled.

 

Louise giggled, “Do you…need help?”

 

At that, Siesta cocked a brow, “Can you sew?”

 

A shrug, “It can’t be that hard.” She winced, at Siesta’s blank expression, “Can it?”

 

A snort, “Let’s find out.”

 

**Line Break**

 

Johan, to his minor consternation, found that he couldn’t find any time to speak with Juliet in private—well, as private as things could be with Derflinger strapped to his hip. When she wasn’t asleep, she had a family member hovering over her, watching her every move. He mused that he could just sneak into the woman’s room in the middle of the night, but that’d be rude.

 

As it was, he was leaning against a window in the barn’s loft, watching the trees sway in the breeze. He sighed deeply.

 

“Feeling bored?” Derflinger chimed from the haystack he was resting against.

 

The elder mage smiled softly, “Yes…a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?”

 

The sentient blade grunted, “I suppose.” They were silent for a moment. Then, Derflinger asked, “What was it like, up on that mountain?”

 

Johan smiled fondly, “Ah, Monahven,” he let the word rumble through his throat. “The Throat of the World,” he added at Derflinger’s inquisitive hum. “I was not alone, in truth. There’s a fortress just below the peak, High Hrothgar, where a group called the Greybeards call home.”

 

“Well, you must have fit right in,” the blade japed.

 

The Nord stroked his beard, “Not at first, but I grew into it.” The pair shared a laugh. “But I spent most of my time at the peak of the mountain. My only company being Dovah—dragon’s.”

 

“You lived among dragons?” Derflinger said, impressed.

 

“Dovah, yes.”

 

“Is there a difference?”

 

Johan chuckled, “Very much so. ‘Dovah’ are not mere beasts like those that roam these skies. They are proud, intelligent beings. Able to reason, plan, desire. And wonderful conversationalists.”

 

“They could speak?!”

 

A nod, “Yes. I believe there is a type of dragon native to these lands capable of speech as well. Chime dragons was it?”

 

“Rhyme dragons,” the blade quickly supplied.

 

“Do you know of them?”

 

The weapon hummed lowly, “…Sort of. The details are fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure I knew one or two when I was a young, freshly forged blade.”

 

“What were they like?” Johan asked, “The books I have on them merely speak of how their body parts can be used for Alchemical ingredients.”

 

“Let me think,” the blade began. “They were...childish.”

 

“Childish?” Johan parroted.

 

“Fond of games, and prone to sulking when they didn’t get what they wanted,” he elaborated. “You said they’re mainly known for providing Alchemy ingredients?” A nod. “Hmm…yeah, yeah!” He suddenly shouted, “I remember! I—ooh,” he shivered, “I cut up more than my fair share of them.”

 

“Was it worth it?” A more empathetic man would probably be horrified at the confession or try and console the confessor. But Johan had done worse for less.

 

Derflinger was silent for a moment. “I don’t think so. At least, not in the way my original wielder had hoped. At least, I think it was my original wielder.” He groaned, “I can remember killing a dozen dragon’s, but I can’t remember what my first wielder looked like? Or even a name?”

 

“Is there nothing else you can recall?”

 

His friend took a deep breath. “No, nothing. Grah!” He shouted, “It’s like there’s this massive storm tin my head that’s keeping my memories from coming together!”

 

Johan frowned, looking down at his hands. “I want to try something,” he suddenly said.

 

“What?”

 

Johan shifted, looking down at Derflinger. “The School of Illusion,” blue mist wafted up from his hands, “deals in matters of the mind. It can make people see things that aren’t there, or not see things that should be there. It can drive men mad, and force madmen to regain their sanity.”

 

“Can it help with my memories?” Derflinger asked, quickly putting together what Johan was leading up to.

 

A nod, “Perhaps. It will ultimately depend on you, but I should be able to ease some of your burden.”

 

“…Sure, why not,” the blade said after a moment.

 

Johan grunted, moving closer. “Don’t move.”

 

“Oh, really? I was planning on going on a stroll.” The mage laughed at his friend’s reply.

 

He brought his hands close—but not touching—above his lap. He focused on the abstract energies of Illusion magic. Such a tricky thing to master, Illusion magic. A very high skill-threshold; unlike Destruction, Restoration, or even Conjuration, you couldn’t just get lucky or brute-force it without seeking some actual instruction. Especially because, unlike the other schools, the vast majority of its spells were devoted to trying to (nonfatally) affect another being. Briefly, Johan mused that the School of Restoration was similar in that regard. But then again, you could _see_ the effects of a Restoration spell.

 

Focusing back on the task at hand, Johan called upon two branches of the Illusion School; Calm, and Courage. Blue mist seeped out from his right palm, and green energy swirled in his right. He moved the two spells closer together. Mixing together two different spells—even from the same School—could be…difficult. He chuckled as a memory from his youth rose to the surface of his mind; J’zargo—in his never-failing wisdom—somehow got it into his head that he could create a Destruction spell that would freeze an opponent and burn them while they were encased in their icy prisons. He was pretty sure Drevis and Faralda still held a grudge against the Khajiit after that catastrophic—if entertaining—failure.

 

The most difficult part was adjusting how much energy he needed to pour into each spell as he worked. Too much of the Calm-type energy, and the spell would fizzle out. Too much of the Courage-type energy, and something would explode.

 

It took several, long moments, but eventually the two energies merged into light-blue sphere of magical energy. Johan let the spell rest for a moment, satisfied when it stayed stable.

 

“So,” Derflinger drawled, “what’s that supposed to do?”

 

“It should help you with your memory-problems. There’s a bunch of technical knowhow involved, but the bottom-line is it will make it easier for you to make sense of your mangled thoughts. Fair warning, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this up for longer than ten minutes.”

 

“Okay.” The blade simply replied, “Let’s get to it.”

 

Johan moved closer to Derflinger. He paused, “Uh, your hilt is your head, right?”

 

The blade hummed, clanking his cross guard up-and-down. “Since this thing moves like a pair of lips, I’m going to go with yes.” Johan shrugged, spreading his hands to expand the orb. He slowly lowered his hands, engulfing Derflinger’s hilt in magical energy.

 

“Woah!” Derflinger shouted, “That’s a new feeling.”

 

Johan furrowed his brow, “Are you in pain?”

 

“Nah, it’s fine.” He sighed, “So…what now?”

 

“Now you do your part.”

 

The blade grunted, “Makes sense.” He then fell silent. “I…I see my first wielder.”

 

“How do you know they’re the first one?”

 

“I just know.” Johan accepted the answer. Another bout of silence. “It’s…it’s a woman.”

 

“A woman?” Johan hummed, “Do you have a name?”

 

Derflinger hummed, but ended in a grunt, “S…Sa…Sa-something, that’s all I can get.”

 

“Focus on something else,” Johan whispered, “Her features, the surroundings.”

 

“She’s fair-skinned. With blonde hair and green eyes. She,” Derflinger blanched, “is wearing very revealing clothes.”

 

“What?” Johan asked blankly.

 

“She’s wearing a loincloth, and tight shirt that only covers her chest and the upper part of her torso. Some sort of weird sleeves on her arms and—good god, is that a collar?!”

 

“A slave?” Johan mused. “That doesn’t make sense. What slave would be given a sentient blade?”

 

“How should I know?” Derflinger’s snapped. Then a harsh gasp.

 

“What is it?” Johan asked urgently.

 

“She’s an elf,” Derflinger replied.

 

“An elf?”

 

“I can see her pointy ears.”

 

That was curious. The Elves of this world had separated from Men centuries ago. So, either he was originally made in elven lands, or he was much older than either of them originally thought. Johan looked down at the spell, frowning as it started to lose a bit of its luster, “I think we’re going to have to stop here.”

 

A long sigh, “Sure. By all means.”

 

Johan cancelled the spell, dropping his hands on his lap. He hummed, gently tapping Derflinger’s pommel. “Are you alright?” Silence. “Derflinger?”

 

“I’m fine,” the blade mumbled. “Just…that lead to more questions than answers.”

 

Johan chuckled mirthlessly, “Yes. That’s how these things usually go, isn’t it?”

 

“But,” Derflinger perked up slightly, “At least I remember her face. And the first part of her name. ‘Sa—‘…Sarah, Sally, Sandra?”

 

“Savideni? Savema?” Johan supplied. At his friend’s questioning grunt, he added, “Those are a couple elven names for women in my homeland.”

 

“Ah. It’s neither of those, but thanks.”

 

“Mr. Johan!” The Nord blinked, looking out the window to see Sofie waving at him, “Our parents want to have a word with you.”

 

Johan looked down at Derflinger, shrugging, “Guess we’re done for the time-being.”

 

“Fine by me,” the sentient weapon yawned as Johan strapped him to his belt. “Think I’ll take a nap, recharge my energy.”

 

“You do that,” Johan said with a soft smile.

 

He quickly made his way down, following Sofie as she led him to the house. It was just outside the front door that he found Louise and Siesta. He cocked a brow at his student, who shrugged. When he did the same to Siesta, she quickly darted her head to the side; but not fast enough that he couldn’t see her lips twitch. But whether it was into a frown or smile, he couldn’t say.

 

The young girl coughed into her hand, “They’re waiting for you inside.”

 

Johan and Louise exchanged a glance, but nonetheless entered the house. He then paused as he saw the Siesta’s father and his siblings sitting at the far edge of the kitchen table. Their faces set in stone.

 

He felt a tug on his sleeve. He darted his eyes down to see Louise leaning up at him. “Did you do something?” she whispered.

 

“No. Did you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Please,” Marcus suddenly said, voice a tad gruffer than it usually was, “Have a seat.”

 

Johan couldn’t help it. He laughed. When the five siblings’ faces hardened, he said, “Ah, sorry, sorry. I know you _think_ you’re being cool and mysterious and all. But,” he burst into another quick fit of laughter.

 

Five sighs sounded before them. “Told you this was ridiculous,” Lou said, smacking Marcus on the arm.

 

“It’s always worked before,” the man replied, indignant.

 

“It’s always worked on our _children_ before,” Sylvia snarked.

 

“Is there a reason why we’re here?” Louise spoke up.

 

The siblings sobered, and Marcus cleared his throat. “Johan,” he began, “you’ve…what you’ve done for my daughter is something that I could never repay.”

 

Johan’s smile softened, “Marcus, I’ve already told you—“

 

He held a hand up, “I know, I know. But I—we,” he gestured to his siblings, “were raised a certain way.”

 

“We like to repay one good deed with another,” Alan said. “And, honestly there’s only one thing we can think of that could even come close to saving Siesta’s life.”

 

“But before that, we need assurance. From both of you.”

 

“Why?” Louise immediately asked. Johan glanced down at her, and then silently raised a brow at Marcus and his siblings.

 

“This thing we’re talking about,” Margot said, “is, as I’m sure Siesta’s told you, very personal to our family.” She nodded at Johan, “You’re a decent man Johan, we’re confident that you won’t betray the trust we’re willing to put in you.” She narrowed her eyes at Louise, “You, on the other hand.”

 

“Me?” Louise shouted incredulously.

 

“We’re not blind, girl,” Lou said, crossing his arms, “You’re a Noble. We know what that means.”

 

Louise’s nostrils flared, and she bared her teeth fiercely, “I am nothing like Mott!”

 

“We’re not talking about that,” Alan gently assuaged. “We’re talking about whatever family’s waiting for you back at your home.”

 

Louise grunted confusedly, but Johan could connect the dots. “You’re afraid she’ll inform her family of whatever it is you’re hiding.”

 

Louise jerked her head towards him, “What?!” and back to them, “Why would you think that?!”

 

Marcus gestured in the air, “It’s how you Nobles operate. Always looking for ways to increase your family standing and whatnot.”

 

Louise opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. Evidently, his words struck true.

 

Siesta’s father leaned forward, “Louise, I need you to be honest with us. Can you promise that you won’t breath word of this to anyone?”

 

Louise gulped, tilting her head down. Johan considered what he knew of Louise and her family; which, admittedly, wasn’t much. But what he did know, was that whatever her relationship with her family, she was more concerned with how she represented her Noble lineage.

 

“I,” Johan returned his attention to Louise, “I may not know exactly what you all are so intent on keeping secret, but I do know how important it is to Sie—your family,” she hastily corrected herself, which brought a small smile to Johan’s face. “Whatever your hiding in the woods, to call attention to it would spell trouble. I cannot, will not, do that to h—your family,” another quick correction, widening Johan’s smile.

 

Marcus and his siblings exchanged brief smiles after Louise’s declaration. Then, Marcus said, “It’s called the Cairn.”

 

Johan blinked, “The what?”

 

“The Cairn,” Lou repeated.

 

 “Just…just that?”

 

A shrug, “Gramps named it. He was a simple man.”

 

“What’s there?” Louise asked.

 

Sylvia cleared her throat, “It’s where—”

 

“WAAAH!”

 

Margot sighed heavily, rising out of her chair, “At least it’s only—”

 

“WAAWAAH!

 

“WAAAH!”

 

Her siblings snickered as Margot’s face fell. As she hurriedly left the room, Marcus nodded at Louise and Johan, “Uh, Johan, Alan told you Grandpa Rowley was some sort of warrior before he married Grandma Laura, right?” At Johan’s grunt, he continued, “The Cairn is where he buried a bunch of his comrades after a bad encounter with a dragon—which is also ‘buried’ there.”

 

Johan hummed in understanding, “Let me guess; he used to travel there to pay his respects, and when he married into your grandmother’s family, he started to take her and their children and so on.”

 

The four nodded. Alan replied, “We usually save visits for special occasions; births, holidays, deaths. It’s actually where we bury our whole family, now—or place a small jar of ashes, at least.”

 

Johan grunted; sounded an awful lot like Nordic burial rights.

 

Sylvia said, “We’re leaving in a couple days in celebration of Ricky and Thomas’s births.” She gestured to the two mages, “Obviously, you’re invited.”

 

“Well,” Johan bowed lightly, “we are honored that you would trust us so. Right, Louise?”

 

His student nodded and bowed as well; albeit a bit stiffly.

 

Lou clapped his hands together, “Well, glad that’s sorted out. Don’t know about you all, but I’m ready for supper.” That said, he rose from his seat, walking further into the house. Alan, Marcus, and Sylvia bid their goodbyes as well, the former leading Johan and Louise out. Louise quickly found Siesta, who smiled brightly at them. From the corner of his eye, he could see his student smile in turn.

 

**A/N: Considering the fact that Brimir was willing to commit genocide against his world’s elves (the race of his girlfriend/unwitting slave) …yeah, I’m pretty sure he’d be all for murdering Rhyme Dragons to harvest their ‘magic’ organs.**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

Starry Night

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

“So, this thing—the Cairn—that you’ve been so tight-lipped about is just a family graveyard?” Louise winced at her own blunt statement, her unease compounding as Siesta frowned sternly.

 

“It’s not ‘just a family graveyard’,” she repeated heatedly.

 

Louise pursed her lips, “Er…right. I just mean, well, no Noble would honestly care where Commoner’s bury their dead, so why all the secrecy?”

 

Siesta pressed her finger against her cheek, humming lightly. “Well, there’s the dragon corpse.”

 

“You could have sold that.” Louise sighed at Siesta’s stare, “What? Dragon parts are good money!”

 

“They are,” Siesta admitted. “But do you think Nobles would be considerate of the graves of my great-grandfather’s friends?” Louise met Siesta’s knowing glare with her own deadpan stare. “…Besides, he told everyone that they shouldn’t touch it. Apparently, he didn’t like it when anyone one so much as looked at it.”

 

Louise tilted her head to the side, “Dragon corpses aren’t toxic, though.”

 

“Maybe not,” Siesta shivered, “but it is creepy.”

 

“You’ve seen it?”

 

“Of course, I’ve seen it.” Her lips quirked into a small smile, “You know what it’s like; tell a kid they can’t do something, and they just _have_ to do it.”

 

Louise nodded uncertainly; she’d never had it in her to disobey her mother.

 

“But boy, did I regret that decision.”

 

Now Louise was curious. “What did it look like?” she asked, leaning forward.

 

Siesta sighed, crossing her arms, pursing her lips. She then said, “It’s huge. Big as the house, at least. Covered in gray, almost black scales.”

 

“Scales?” Louise parroted, “It still has scales on its bones?”

 

“There’s actually very little bone,” Siesta said. “I mean, you can see some bone where it was attacked and the flesh was stripped away, but it’s still mostly scale and muscle.”

 

“It hasn’t decomposed?” Louise asked incredulously. Siesta nodded. “Hasn’t it been almost a century since your great-grandfather killed it?”

 

“Yes.” Siesta answered. Louise stared at her until the young Commoner gasped, “Oh! That _is_ odd isn’t it?” Louise rolled her eyes. “But, that just means it magical, doesn’t it?”

 

Louise hummed, “I mean, some species of dragon _are_ more magical than others. I suppose their corpses could be kept preserved by some naturally occurring magical substance. But still,” she bent her head down, frowning, “you’d think other animals would have eaten it.”

 

“It’s stuck in a cave that we block off,” Siesta added. “Not a lot of chances for animals to poke at it.”

 

“Rats can get anywhere. To say nothing of insects,” Louise trailed off.

 

At that, Siesta shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you.” She gently ribbed Louise’s ribs with her elbow, “Maybe you and Johan can study it.”

 

Louise absent-mindedly nodded. It certainly was odd. All living things decayed; it was a fact of life. But as interesting as she found the conundrum, she dreaded the reaction her master would have upon discovering this little fact.

 

**Line Break**

 

“Marcus,” Johan said when he met with the man after supper. “I’ve got a question.”

 

Siesta’s father put down the dishes in his hands, “Is it about the Cairn?”

 

“No, well, maybe.” Johan cleared his throat, “I’d like to talk with your mother.”

 

The man furrowed his brow slightly, “What about?”

 

“Her father, Rowley.” Marcus grunted questioningly, “Well, apparently we look similar. Who knows, perhaps we are related?”

 

Marcus cocked a brow, “You think we might be kin?” He looked the mage over, “I mean…maybe? No, wait,” Marcus shook his head, “Grandpa told us that he never knew his father, and his mother raised him alone.”

 

Johan shrugged, “It’s just a thought. The odds of it are low, but, well,” the Nord sighed, crossing his arms, “Get to be my age, you learn to welcome all the family you can get your hands on.” His wistful tone was only mostly faked. As he grew in age and experience, he came to consider his scaly brethren as actual brothers. But there was always a small part of him that wished his parents had been able to have more than one child before they passed. Of course, it was probably for the best that they didn’t. The last thing he’d have needed while traipsing around Skyrim, and later all of Tamriel, in his prime was worrying over a sibling of two in Cyrodiil. He shook his head clear of such thoughts, returning his gaze to Marcus, “Only if you’ll let me talk to her, of course. Alan told me she’s…” he trailed of, thinking of what to say.

 

“Ma’s been a little out there since Pa died last winter, yeah,” Marcus sadly stated. The farmer then set his shoulders, gesturing down the hall, “Sure, we can give it a try.” Johan thanked the man and followed him to his mother’s room.

Marcus slowly opened to door to her room, “Lisa,” he said, poking his head through, “how’s Nana?”

 

“Marcus?” an elderly voice answered instead, “Is that you, son?”

 

Marcus stepped into the room, Johan closely following, “Hey Ma? Remember Johan,” he gestured to the mage, who waved, “he’s got some questions about Grandpa. You feel like answering?”

 

The elderly woman smacked her lips, leaning forward to better stare at Johan through her cloudy eyes. “About Papa?” she hummed. “Alright.”

 

Marcus nodded, then looked to Lisa, “I’ll stay with her, Lisa.”

 

The young girl nodded, gathering what looked like weaving materials in a small basket. She then leaned over to her grandmother, planting a soft kiss on her temple. “See you tomorrow, Nana.”

 

Juliet smiled, reaching up and planting her own kiss upon Lisa’s brow, “Remember child, patience is key.”

 

The girl smiled softly and left without another word. Johan quietly closed the door after her.

 

Juliet leaned back into her chair, settling her cloudy eyes on Johan, “So…you want to know about Papa?”

 

Johan briefly looked at Marcus. When he gave a nonverbal nod, the mage grabbed a stool, saying, “I’d like to know a bit more about him, yes. I’ve heard that we’re similar in some regards.”

 

“You mean you’re both built like brick houses?” Juliet said with a short cackle.

 

Johan smirked, “Yes, that. Although, your son—Alan,” he clarified, “Told me that, when you focus on the details, that’s where the similarities end.”

 

Juliet hummed, leaning forward to peer closer at him. “…Those are very blue eyes,” she stated, “Reminds me of the lake east of town.” She leaned over, grinning toothily at her son, “Remember those summer days, Marcus? It’s where you met Jessie, too. No, wait,” she frowned, “That’s where Lou met May. Right, you met Jessie at Yoren’s wedding. How is he? Still complaining that his children don’t know a hammer from a nail?” she asked with a peal of laughter.

 

“Ma,” Marcus said softly, leaning down, “Yoren’s been dead for three years.”

 

Juliet blinked. She then scoffed, “I think I’d know if one of my oldest friends was dead.”

 

“Ma, he died when that flu swept through town, remember?” Marcus reached out, gently rubbing her wrinkled wrist, “He refused the medicine because there wasn’t enough for him and his grandkids.”

 

Juliet’s face fell, “Oh…right. Of course. Richard was so sad after his passing, lost a lot of his fire after that,” she trailed off, mumbling to herself.

 

Johan exchanged a concerned glance with Marcus. He then coughed into his hand, “Ma’am, your father?”

 

“Hmm? Ah, Papa, yes.” She hummed lightly, “Built like a brick house, same as you. But his eyes weren’t blue like yours. No, they were black. Some people said they were like coals—cold and unyielding—but Mama always said they were like the night sky, shining.” She smiled, “He had mixed feelings about the comparison.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes.” Juliet chuckled, “He loved the compliment for what it was, but he couldn’t stand the night sky.”

 

“He was afraid of the night?” Johan asked.

 

“Oh, no, no,” Juliet weakly waved her hand, “Papa wasn’t afraid of anything. He just didn’t like the night sky. Said it was boring.”

 

“Boring?” Johan repeated amusedly.

 

“Too bland. Colorless. And he despised the official constellations.”

 

Marcus laughed, “I remember that.” Johan looked over to him, and he continued, “Said that the stories behind them were unforgivingly boring. His biggest complaint was that they _all_ involved the Founder. And that all the tales were mostly self-contained.” Johan agreed, that did sound boring.

 

Marcus smiled softly, “When we were younger, he liked to take us out under the night sky and encourage us to make-up new constellations.”

 

Juliet sighed, “Ah…You and Sylvia always butted head on those nights.”

 

A smirk, “Well, she was always wrong.”

 

Juliet chuckled softly. That chuckle then devolved into a rough yawn. Marcus frowned concernedly, but Johan rose to his feet. “I think it’s time I bid you goodnight, Juliet.”

 

“Hmmm…Oh!” The woman shook her head lazily, “Of course, of course. Good night, Johan.” Johan smiled at the elderly woman, turning to exit the room.

 

Under the doorframe, he looked over his shoulder, and Marcus whispered, “Someone’s got to tuck her in.”

 

Johan nodded in understanding, and quietly closed the door behind him.

 

He didn’t learn all he’d have liked, he mused as he exited the house. But the thing about the stars was interesting. He’d never been interested in Astronomy beyond his birth-sign—the Serpent—but he did like stories. It was always interesting to hear how the different races and people of Tamriel interpreted the stars. The Argonians especially, with their enthralling ways of tying everything back to the Hist Trees. Thus, he decided to stay up a few extra hours in order to view the stars and look up their accompanying stories. 

 

Upon arriving at the barn loft, he opened a portal to Oblivion, requesting reading materials on Halkegnia’s stars. The Dremora did so without a word. Before Johan could close the connection, however, it said, “Hermaeus Mora paid me a visit.”

 

Johan’s heart leapt to his throat. “What?” he managed to croak out.

 

“He was looking for you. I didn’t tell him anything,” the Daedra flippantly stated. “He tried to threaten me, of course. But he holds no power in my little corner of Oblivion.”

 

Johan’s heart started to race, “Did he see any of the books from this land?”

 

“What do you take me for?” the demon scoffed, “As annoying as you can be, I’d sooner destroy my own soul than betray our contract.”

 

Johan sighed, relieved. “Thank you.” The Daedra grunted, staying silent. Johan then closed the connection, dropping his head into his hands.

 

“Who’s Hermaeus Mora?” Derflinger yawned from his sheath. Johan jolted, but quickly calmed his nerves. “Woah,” Derflinger softly exclaimed, “Sorry for startling you, Boss. Didn’t think that was possible,” he mumbled.

 

Johan grunted, “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

 

“So…Hermaeus Mora?”

 

Johan’s jaw clenched, and he did his best to keep the rage out of his tone, “Hermaeus Mora is one of the Daedric Princes. The Prince of Fate, Knowledge, and Memory.”

 

“…Why’s a Demon-God seeking you out?” Derflinger meekly asked.

 

The Nord scowled, “Because I am his ‘Champion’. Twice over, technically.”

 

“Come again?” the blade gasped.

 

Johan growled, angrily swiping the air, “The first time around, I retrieved his personal tome—the Oghma Infinium—from an extremely complicated puzzle box. But at that point I suppose you could just call me a favored lackey. The second time, when he explicitly named me his Champion,” Johan sighed sadly, “he killed my brother, who’d previously held the title, and forced it upon me.”

 

Derflinger gasped, “Oh my…Johan, I’m so sorry.”

 

A snort, “Don’t be. Miraak was insane, planned on taking over the world. I was in the middle of killing him myself.”

 

“…O…kay…” his friend hesitantly replied.

 

“But,” Johan clenched his fist, voice trembling with fury, “Hermaeus Mora had no right to interfere in our battle!” He could still see it, even after all these years. Miraak’s eyes, showing through the cracks of his mask that had formed during their titanic struggle, though unnaturally black, widening in a very familiar show of shock, horror, _shame_ , as the Lord of Apocrypha stabbed his body with an inky tendril. What should have been a moment of triumph, of pride, was twisted into mockery.

 

“…You need a minute?”

 

Johan did indeed seethe for another moment. He then sighed, reigning in his raging Dovahsil. “…My apologies. But, even decades later, my anger from that day still burns as bright as the sun.”

 

Derflinger hummed but stayed silent.

 

The mage then said, “Got at least two hours until sundown…I think I’ll meditate.”

 

“Mind if I join you?” the blade asked.

 

“By all means,” the Nord replied. He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes and holding his hands above his lap. He called forth the Magicka coursing through his veins, called forth the raw power inherent to the School of Destruction. He focused on heat. On life. Within seconds, an orb of fire came to life between his palms. Then, he called upon the another spectrum within the School of Destruction. Cold. Death. That orb of orange flames steamed and fizzled. A sphere of ice appearing from the mist. Focusing on fire once more replaced the sphere of ice with another orb of fire. And then he recalled the ice. And then the fire once more. Again, and again. A nigh-endless cycle of elemental manipulation.

 

“Okay, I’ve seen some impressive magic in my day, but that degree of casual control,” Derflinger whistled loudly.

 

Johan chuckled, “Should have the first few times I attempted this. Of course, it was during that time that I learned to block out the smell of burnt hair, so I suppose the pros outweighed the cons.” Derflinger laughed along with him, and the pair fell into a companionable silence.

 

**Line Break**

 

Louise had gotten used to a number of her master’s quirks and oddities over the last few weeks. Like his ungodly desire to wake up before sunrise. Or, his obsession with picking every fruit off of every bush. Or his snark. Sometimes, she wondered how she put up with it. But this…this was new.

 

He was sitting in the barn’s loft, eyes closed, and head bent down over his hands. Floating between his hands was a ball of ice. That ball than vanished into white mist, replaced by an orb of fire. And then that ball was once more covered in mist, and replaced with another ball of ice, and so on and so forth. And endless cycle that repeated itself every ten seconds.

 

“Impressive, huh?” the blade spoke up from its resting spot. “Personally, I don’t see how that can help a guy meditate, but to each his own, eh?”

 

Louise could only nod as she fully climbed into the loft. This, _this_ was why she put up with his antics. Why she’d come to respect him so much in so little time. His effortless control of something her own people had written off as impossible. His willingness to teach _her_ , of all people, his secrets.

 

Were she more pious, she’d praise the Founder until she passed out from exhaustion. And she certainly was thankful that Johan came into her life. But considering everything she’d endured _until_ that point, she felt that her current good-fortune was long overdue.

 

She left her master to his meditation, closing in on a pile of books by the loft window. She grabbed the one atop the pile, frowning as she read; “‘The Starry Skies’?” She narrowed her gaze at her master, then turned to the blade, “This is a poetry book.”

 

It replied, “He just asked that demon of his for some books on the stars.”

 

Louise sniffed, flipping through the book, “Can’t see why he’d be interested in that. His own people’s interpretation of the stars origins is much more fantastical.” As far as she knew, no one in all of Halkegnia had any idea why the stars hung up in the night sky. No one seemed to care to much, it seemed. There were, however, a dozen or so theories on how the moons—Premier Né and Deuxième Né—came to orbit their world—the most popular theory being that they used to be mountains that were forced out of the ground by an ungodly amount of wind stones, which also tied into another theory on how Albion’s trajectory in the sky was linked to the phases of the moons. All very interesting topics, if you were into that sort of thing. Louise wasn’t—but then, she never really had the chance to really look into such topics. Even if she didn’t spend every waking moment trying to figure out why she couldn’t perform magic, her mother didn’t see the point in studying such a nebulous and indirect topic.

 

A distant memory surfaced; she could, scarcely, recall an argument her mother and father had when she was a young girl—before she’d been outed as an abnormality. Some Holy Men had predicted a meteor shower, and her father wanted to take the family to a nearby village that was celebrating the event. But her mother would have none of it, calling it a stupid and frivolous idea. She remembered that it was one of the few times her father got genuinely frustrated with his wife—the Duchess always seemed to be irritated by her husband. But they ended up staying anyway, when Cattleya fell sick and was confined to her room. They instead watched the meteor shower from Cattleya’s balcony.

 

Louise smiled bitterly as she remembered that night; easily her favorite and most cherished memory of childhood. But alas, that following summer, it was discovered that she could not perform normal spells, and everything fell to pieces.

 

She sighed, returning to the now. She grunted at the blade, “Did Master Johan say when he’d be done?”

 

“A bit after sundown. Why?”

 

Louise shrugged, putting the poetry book back on the pile, “I wanted to ask if he had any books on dragon anatomy. I was talking to Siesta about—“she abruptly stopped herself.

 

“Ah, so I take it she told you about that thing in the forest?” the blade said.

 

Louise nodded. “Yes. They plan on taking a trip to…it in a few days. Did Master Johan not tell you?” she asked.

 

“Other things came up,” it enigmatically replied. She frowned but said nothing. It then said, “Actually, could you take me down to them.”

 

The young mage cocked a brow, “Why?”

 

“Well, even if I’m not human, I am a being capable of speech and independent thought. And I doubt Johan plans on leaving me behind when this trip happens.”

 

Louise tilted her head, “Are you sure? You never revealed yourself to Siesta while she was with us.”

 

“Never saw the need to,” it honestly replied. “But one good turn deserves another.” Louise agreed with its statement. Thus, she picked it up, and made her way down the loft’s ladder.

 

She’d hoped to find Marcus—as he seemed to be the patriarch of the family—without interruption. And yet.

 

“Miss Louise!” came a familiar, high-pitched shout.

 

Louise fought back the urge to cringe, instead turning towards Seth—who was sprinting away from a gaggle of his family—with a wide, uncertain smile. “Hello, Seth.”

 

He stopped just a few feet before her, face beaming. “What’cha doing?” Before she could reply he gasped, “Is that a sword?!” he exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the blade in her hands.

 

“Seth!” his father—or it might have been an Uncle, Louise honestly couldn’t say—scolded the boy.

 

Louise looked over at the man. “It’s alright!” she said. The man huffed, reaching out to keep a couple of the other younger children from running around recklessly.

 

Louise looked back down to Seth, who was staring at the blade with awe. “It is yours?” he asked.

 

She shook her head, “No, it belongs to Master Johan.” The boy nodded. “Actually,” Louise began, waiting until he turned his full attention to her, “I need to speak with Marcus—”

 

“What do you need to talk to Dad about?” the child bluntly interrupted.

 

Louise internally cursed the fact that all of these children looked so alike. Aloud, she said, “It’s about this sword. Do you think you can help me find him?”

 

Seth nodded, “He’s in the house.” He then turned to the house, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Dad!” he shouted.

 

Louise quickly grabbed his shoulders, forcibly turning him around. “I meant _lead_ me to him.”

 

“Oh!” Seth replied, a light blush blooming across his cheeks. He quickly stepped back, holding out his hands and grinning toothily at her. “Follow me!”

 

Louise nodded, hesitantly reaching her hand out. Seth closed the distance, wrapping his tiny fist around her own. Louise vowed at that moment to never speak of this moment to anyone; no matter how kind he was, her already muddied reputation would be torn to shreds. Of course, if _any_ bit of this visit reached the ears of her Noble kin and peers, she was certain her _ancestors_ would rise from their grave and strike her down where she stood. To say nothing of what would happen to the farm and Seth’s family.

 

She, naïvely, hoped that she could find Marcus without preamble. And yet…

 

“Seth, Louise?” Siesta said, basket held at her hip, “Where are you two going?”

 

Seth answered, “Miss Louise wanted to talk to Dad about a sword.” Louise held the blade up for emphasis.

 

Siesta blinked, “That’s Johan’s weapon, isn’t it?” Louise nodded. Siesta then said, “Well, I can take you to him.”

 

“I can do it!” Seth stubbornly stated, his grip getting tighter.

 

Louise blushed as Siesta giggled. “Maybe, maybe. But, I’m pretty sure _someone_ has been putting off his bath…” she said teasingly.

 

“Siesta…” Seth grumbled, face flaming.

 

Siesta bent down, affectionately ruffling his hair, “Go on. Mother will be annoyed if you don’t show up soon.”

 

“Fine,” he groused, reluctantly letting go of Louise’s hand. He sniffed, then looked up at Louise, “See you tomorrow?” he asked.

 

Louise blinked, “Um, of course.” The boy beamed, and quickly shot off to another part of the house.

 

“No running!” Siesta called after him. She then sighed, turning to Louise with an amused glint in her eyes. “Lisa and Sofie told me about Seth’s crush, but I have to admit, I didn’t believe them.”

 

Louise bristled slightly, before huffing, turning her nose up at her friend. “It’s not my fault the boy has good taste.”

 

The Commoner chuckled, turning around and leading Louise further into the house, “Well, you’re certainly prettier than the last girl he was infatuated with.” Louise preened at the compliment. They walked in silence for a bit, and then Siesta asked, “So, what _is_ up with the sword?”

 

Louise looked down at the blade, “…You’ll see,” was all she said.

 

Marcus, it turned out, was in some sort of office, reading through letters and writing into a ledger, his youngest daughter—Clara, she believed—dozing on his knee. Louise almost recoiled in shock, for the scene reminded her of her own father when he would hole himself into his office (He used to sit her on his lap as he read her the reports and such of the other Nobles in the area. Until her mother put a stop it, saying that she shouldn’t distract her father from his work).

 

Marcus looked up from his ledger, frowning, “Sweetie, Miss Louise, what is it?”

 

Siesta stepped aside, “Louise has something to show you.”

 

Marcus frowned, sitting up straight and picking up Clara so that she wouldn’t fall. “Must be important if it couldn’t wait till the morning,” he said.

 

Louise nodded, “It is.” She then held out the blade.

 

It said nothing.

 

Marcus peered curiously at it, as did Clara and Siesta. “Er…” he began, “is it some sort of magic?”

 

Louise ignored him, glaring down at the blade. Briefly, she saw its cross-guard twitch. Her glare darkened, and she dropped it to the ground. She lifted her foot up, disregarding Siesta and Marcus’s alarmed cries.

 

“Okay, okay!” the blade finally shouted, “Sheesh, can’t you take a joke?”

 

Louise scoffed, telekinetically summoning it into her hands once more, “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of.”

 

“…Okay, I’ll give you that,” it begrudgingly stated.

 

“Is that sword talking?” Siesta gasped.

 

“Yes,” it replied. “Derflinger at your service. Nice to officially meet you, Siesta.” She just stared slack-jawed. Louise bit back a laugh at her friend’s dumbstruck expression.

 

“Why can a sword talk?” Marcus had risen to his feet, coming closer to peer at Derflinger.

 

“Beats me,” the blade quickly said.

 

The two Commoner’s turned their astonished gazes to Louise, who shrugged. “We honestly have no idea,” she told them. She then said, “Master Johan bought him from in a shop—he didn’t know Derflinger was alive, just that the blade was magic,” she added at their stunned stares. “About a week or two in, we discovered it could speak. Master Johan is fond of carrying him around, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 

Marcus blinked, then his eyes lit up in understanding, “You think Johan plans to…” he trailed off.

 

Louise nodded, “We’re positive.”

 

“I thought,” the blade spoke up, “that, since you told Louise and Johan about…whatever is it you’ve got hidden away, it’s only fair I reveal myself. If you don’t want me there, though, I can stay behind.”

 

“Uh, no, no,” Marcus rapidly stated, “it’s fine. I mean,” he set his face into a serious expression, “Do you swear not to tell anyone what I’m about to say?”

 

“Who am I going to tell?” the blade humorously replied. When Marcus’s stare hardened, it coughed, “Rather, you guys are good people. Heck, Siesta alone testifies to that,” the young girl blushed lightly. “It wouldn’t feel right to do something that could cause you harm. Besides, as friendly as we are, I’m pretty sure the Boss would let you melt down to scrap if I did something dumb enough to cause you all trouble.”

 

Marcus blinked, then looked to Siesta. His daughter shrugged, prompting a sigh. “…It’s called the Cairn,” he said. He then explained to the blade what he’d told Louise and Johan. The blade was about to ask more, but then Clara started to fuss in her father’s arms. Marcus gently rocked the girl, cooing at her. He spared a glance at Louise and Derflinger, “I can answer any more questions you have tomorrow.”

 

“That’s fair,” the blade replied, “Until then.” Louise bid Marcus her own farewell, and quickly exited out the door. Siesta followed close behind.

 

“Well,” Siesta slowly breathed, “I wish I’d known about you, Derflinger. It must have been awful, keeping silent around me.”

 

“Eh, it’s alright,” it easily replied. “I got my fill of conversation in from Johan while you two were sleeping or otherwise indisposed.”

 

Louise sent Siesta a nod; she’d heard the muffled conversations between the blade and her master often enough when walking past his tent at night.

 

“Well,” Siesta said after they reached the front door, “guess it’s off to bed then.”

 

“For you maybe,” the blade said, “I took a pretty long nap. Gonna stare at the stars with Johan for a bit.”

 

Siesta smiled softly, “Oh, I love star-gazing; I try to do it whenever I can.”

 

“So that’s what that was,” Louise mumbled, recalling the few times she’d seen Siesta staring at the night sky before turning in to her own tent.

 

“Have you ever taken the time to look at the stars, Louise?” her friend asked.

 

The young mage shook her head, “Never saw the appeal.”

 

“Hmm,” Siesta frowned, “That’s a shame. You remember the windmill?” Louise resisted the urge to roll her eyes—of course she remembered, it’d only been a day, “Well that’s a good place to stargaze also.” The Commoner nodded, “In fact, I think I’ll do that before I go to bed tonight.”

 

“Sounds nice,” Louise replied. “I don’t plan on immediately going to sleep either. I have some things I’d like to read,” she added at Siesta’s questioning gaze.

 

Siesta nodded, “Well, if you’d like, you can join me.”

 

Louise frowned, “Did you not hear what I just said?”

 

Her friend rolled her eyes with a sigh, “I heard you. I’m just saying you can read up there.”

 

“Maybe, maybe,” Louise replied. “In any case, good night.”

 

“Good night, Louise,” Siesta said, closing the door after them.

 

The young Noble made it up to the loft without any interruptions. Upon reaching the top, she saw that Master Johan was no longer meditating. In fact, he was no longer there.

 

And then he poked his head through the loft window, “Ah, there you two are!” he jovially stated. “Louise, I’ve left some books and a lantern for you by your cot.”

 

She turned, smiling gratefully when she saw the items. She looked back at him, scoffing when she saw that he’d moved his head away from the window, replacing it with an open palm. Louise quickly marched over, handing him the blade.

 

“Don’t stay up too late,” he told her as he took the blade out of view. She then heard him walk along the roof, settling near the top ridge.

 

Louise let out a breath, walking over to her cot. A quick Fire spell lit the lantern, allowing her to read the titles of the half-a-dozen books before her. She started with a book titled, ‘The Enigma of Rhyme Dragons’, on account of the fact that, of all the dragon-subspecies, they were considered the most powerful and magical.

 

Briefly, her thoughts turned to the dragon that she had summoned, and subsequently failed to bind as her Familiar. Was it a Rhyme Dragon? But then she saw some drawings of Rhyme Dragons a few pages in and was forced to conclude that it was not. Though Rhyme Dragons did come in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes, they all had four legs. The dragon she’d summoned only had hindlegs, with wings similar in structure to a bat. A Wyvern, she remembered the name for that specific subclass.

 

Louise frowned; those were usually lesser dragons, weren’t they? She put down her current book, searching for a tome on Wyverns. She found relevant passages in the book, “Countess Valerie du Marquis’s Draconic Compendium’.

 

“Wyverns,” the book said, “like their Dragon cousins, are large, scaled beasts associated with an element and capable of flight. But where they differ is body structure and growth. Wyverns, unlike the rest of their kin, have only two legs—hindlegs—with their forearms being wings similar to that of a bat. Wyverns also have a different growth pattern; they will never grow bigger than a griffon. Dragons (barring a few exceptions detailed in later chapters) can grow to be as big as a small house.”

 

Louise put the book down, face scrunched up in thought. The Wyvern she summoned was easily larger than a house. Could it be an undocumented species? She hummed; Johan said he knew that beast—had told her its name once. He had to know more about them.

 

Louise rose to her feet, books in hand as she headed for the window. She then froze. She looked down at the books in her grip and thought back as to why she’d even asked for such books in the first place.

 

She let out a groan, “Focus, Louise!” she scolded herself. She sat back down, carefully seeking passages pertaining to dragon anatomy and decay processes. Only to then hit a wall as she realized that she didn’t have to foggiest idea what type of dragon was not-rotting in the Cairn. She sighed defeatedly, flopping back onto her cot. She then recalled that Siesta said that she planned on stargazing from the windmill. She sat back up, tapping her fingers along her thigh; surely, she could briefly disturb her to ask a couple questions? The thought that Siesta might not be there also came to mind, but she chose to believe the trip wouldn’t be a waste.

 

With a plan in mind, Louise gathered the books into her satchel, tied the lantern through her belt, and exited the loft. As she left, she took a moment to look up. Her eyes briefly caught sight of her master looking down at a book, no doubt conversing with the blade—he turned, looking down at her. She quickly gestured to the windmill, after which he nodded, and returned his attention to the blade. Looking past him showed that the twin moons were in their zenith, Deuxième Né’s pink glow being barely outstripping the stars shining around it. Well, it would certainly make it easier to see the stars around the moons, she reasoned.

 

She continued on to the windmill and was glad to see a figure sitting up on the roof. Louise quickly climbed up the ladder and poked her head through the trapdoor leading to the roof.

 

And then her heart stopped.

 

Siesta was sitting perpendicular to Louise, with her arms leaning back to brace against the roof. She had a serene smile on her face as she looked up at the sky. But what was truly stunning was her profile against the moon. Maybe it was just the angle, but Siesta’s body was fully encompassed by Premier Né’s ethereal blue radiance. It reflected off her hair, her eyes, granting the young Commoner a glow that you could only see in nature spirits.

 

Louise’s cheeks heated up, and she suddenly felt embarrassed, as though she was intruding on something she had no business knowing. She tried to slip away quietly, only for the wood to creak beneath her feet.

 

She winced as Siesta whipped her head around, a soft frown on her lips. “Louise?”

 

The young mage gulped, ducking her head down and frantically waving her arms. “Y-You’re busy,” she stammered, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

“No!” Siesta called out. She smiled softly, patting a spot next to her, “You can join me.”

Louise nodded numbly, slowly pulling herself onto the roof. “I actually had a couple questions for you.” Siesta tilted her head as Louise sat down next to her. “I was wondering if you could describe the dragon corpse. The whole ‘not-rotting’ thing irks me to no end.”

 

Her friend smiled, giving her a silent nod. Thus, Louise pulled out her books, and the two poured over them long into the night.

 

**Line Break**

 

“…This is boring,” Johan gruffly stated.

 

“Aw, c’mon Boss! The stars twinkling in the sky, the moons giving off rich, dulcet glows,” Derflinger cooed.

 

The Nord rolled his eyes, slapping one of the books strewn around him, “I’m talking about the constellations! I mean, come on! ‘The Founder’s Staff’, ‘The Founder’s Goblet’, ‘The Founder’s Eyes’, ‘The Founder’s Fist’, ‘The Founder’s Enemy’! Founder, Founder, Founder—could these people think of nothing else?!”

 

“I mean, it is the dominant religion of the continent,” the sentient blade supplied.

 

“So, _every_ constellation has to relate to it? Are there no folk tales, or even remnants of past religious order, to draw onto the stars?”

 

“Well when you put it like that…” his friend trailed off.

 

Johan sighed heavily, dropping his head in his hands, “It’s just…irritating, is all.”

 

“Hey, I hear you, Boss. I’m not feeling so hot about this ‘Founder’ crap myself.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, he’s made it a national pastime to hunt down and kill elves,” Derflinger said with a growl.

 

Johan furrowed his brow. And then he remembered. “Your first wielder.” A grunt. “Any luck recalling anything else about her?”

 

“No,” he bitterly spat out. “But I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

 

“A dangerous pastime,” Johan chuckled grimly.

 

“Preaching to the Choir, Boss.” The blade then sighed raggedly, “I just…I keep getting hung up on the idea that she might have been a slave. I mean,” his voice grew soft, “Who does that to another living person?”

 

“Tyrants that believe in superficial superiority.” He thought on the now-extinct Ayelid’s, wiped off the map by St. Alessia, a fellow ‘Dragonborn’. Briefly, he wondered why Paarthurnax never taught her how to wield the Thu’um—she was in Skyrim for a time, according to Legend. But then, Legends also said that she was _made_ a Dragonborn, not born as one. He filed the thought away as something to discuss with Paarthurnax upon his return home.

 

“Also,” he returned his attention to Derflinger, “I..I can’t help but wonder what happened to _me_. I mean, I was a rusted piece of junk when you bought me from that store.”

 

“Yes. Yet, all that rust was external—you maintained your shape and rigidity.”

 

A sigh, “Whoever made me sure was thorough.”

 

“Yes. Why, though?” At Derflinger’s hum, he continued, “Don’t get me wrong, Derflinger, but for what reason would a weapon need to speak?”

 

“That’s…a good question,” Derflinger chuckled. “Maybe my maker was lonely.”

 

Johan grunted, rising to his feet and starting to pace. “Wait…” he stopped moving.

 

“What?”

 

A groan, “I can’t believe I never thought of this before.”

 

“Thought of what, Boss?”

 

Johan sighed, turning to Derflinger, “I know of spells that can detect the souls of beings.”

 

“…You can see _souls_?”

 

“Not like how you’re thinking,” Johan amended. “It’s more like, if something has a healthy, whole soul, then the spell will outline that person.” He lifted his right hand, “I believe the spell was first created to tell if vampires were in your midst.”

 

“Vampires don’t have souls?”

 

“That’s a very lengthy topic which I don’t want to get into right now.” With that said, Johan cast the ‘Detect Life’ spell.

 

Yet, nothing. Frowning, Johan cancelled the spell, now casting the ‘Detect Dead’ spell. Again, nothing. Finally, he took a deep breath. “ ** _LAAS_**!” he harshly whispered the first word of the ‘Aura Whisper’ shout. Now, Derflinger’s ‘body’ was outlined by red mist (as was every person within a 20-mile radius).

 

Johan nodded, “Well, you are a living being, if an unconventional one.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

The mage hummed in thought, “…In my homeland, there are these things called ‘Automatons.’ Creatures with metal bodies, powered by steam and some sort of magical energy source—usually the souls of animals.”

 

“You think I’m like them?”

 

“Well, I’ve never heard an automaton capable of independent thought.” He could recall that the Clockwork City—the loving labor of the late Dunmer deity, Sotha Sil—was said to have had automatons more advanced than those found in Dwarven Ruins, before it fell, at any rate. Indeed, what he’d seen of those left intact were far more advanced than what the Dwemer had created. Yet, something told him that Derflinger was…more than that.

 

Before he could voice these thoughts, however, Derflinger yawned loudly. “Oh! Pardon me.” He sighed, “Must be more tired than I thought.”

 

The Nord nodded, picking up his friend, “Might as well turn in for the night.” Taking a moment to banish the books back to Oblivion, Johan then climbed thought the loft window. He frowned as his gaze swept the room, “Louise is still out.”

 

“Eh, she’s a big girl,” Derflinger flippantly stated. “…There aren’t any wolves around, right?”

 

Johan chuckled, but instead of replying, he whispered, “ ** _LAAS_**!” once more. Turning to where he knew the windmill was, he was mildly surprised to see not one, but two red outlines there. On the roof, based on their positions. “She’s with someone. At the windmill.”

 

“Hmm…ah, right,” Derflinger said, “Siesta said she likes to stargaze from there every now and then.” He then hummed, “Guess that would explain why she wanted to go there in the first place.”

 

Johan smiled, happy that Louise had grown so close to Siesta in their short time together. His smile faded, however, when he realized that their parting would more than likely hurt his student. Despite her tough demeanor, she was still very much a child. Thus, he went to bed, ruminating on how he might best help his young apprentice once they left this place.

 

**A/N: Am I being too heavy on Karin being a ‘tough’ parent? Also, I couldn’t find an official name for FoZ’s two moons, so I made up my own. Bonus points to anyone and everyone who figures out their meaning. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

Draconic Happenings

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

Johan awoke to the sound of a rooster’s call. It was more a jolt, really. Took him a moment to realize where he was. Then, the rooster crowed once more. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his neck.

 

“Tired, Boss?” Derflinger drowsily asked from his haybale.

 

“A little,” the Nord admitted.

 

“Really?” his friend’s groggy tone quickly vanished, “that’s a first.”

 

“I don’t appreciate being woken up by an outside force,” he groused, rubbing his eyes, “Reminds me of my early days learning magic. My instructors would have us awaken early to do their research.”

 

“… I hope you realize the irony of your statement,” the blade dryly stated.

 

Johan smirked lightly, “Ah, but the difference between then and now, is that I actually _teach_ my student.” That smirk dipped down into a frown, as he looked around the room, “Speaking of…did she not come back?”

 

“I guess not,” Derflinger said warily.

 

“ ** _LAAS_**!” Johan harshly whispered. His vision blackened for a split-second, and soon after, all living (by the loosest definition of the word, in Derlfinger’s case) things within a few miles were surrounded in a red glow. A quick scan of the surroundings revealed that she was still at the windmill. “Seems like she spent that night atop the windmill,” he said aloud.

 

“Alone?”

 

Johan hummed, narrowing his eyes at the mass of red in the distance, “I think Siesta is still there as well.”

 

“Aww,” Derflinger cooed. He then sighed, “Man, it’ll be hard for the little lady when we finally leave. Siesta’s her first friend, right?” A nod. “Man…that’s actually kind of sad.”

 

The Nord hummed solemnly. “Indeed. I’ve been thinking about how to help her with that.”

 

“More lessons?” Derflinger humorously suggested.

 

A snort, “Not quite. In truth, I’ve come up with a couple different things—with any luck, I’ll be able to pull off both.”

 

“Ooh do tell.”

 

“Well, regardless of the second thing, I plan on—"

 

“AAAIIEEE!!” a woman screamed

 

Johan burst to his feet, rushing for the loft window. The scream came again, louder and longer, followed by a multitude of shouts and cries. Quick as a flash, Johan ran for the ladder, telekinetically summoning Derflinger to his hand, leaping off the loft. He landed with a grunt, sprinting for the house. “ ** _BEX!_** ” he shouted, and the front door swung open with a crash, revealing a startled Lou.

 

“What the—”

 

“What happened?!” Johan shouted above the man.

 

Lou sobered, face setting into a stern frown, “Siesta’s missing.”

 

“Oh,” Johan sighed, tension leaving his body.

 

“Jessie went to wake her up,” the man continued, failing to notice the change in Johan’s demeanor, “her door was closed, her bed unmade, and the window was o—”

 

“YOU!!” a shrill shout cut Lou off. A hand grasped Lou’s shoulder, shoving him aside. It turned out to be Jessie, whose eyes were bloodshot, her face set in a snarl. She stomped forward, and within seconds was upon Johan, angrily beating his chest with her fists. “You said she would be safe!” she cried, “Said that no one would figure it out! But you were wrong! You were wrong and now my little girl is…is,” she burst into tears, unable to finish her tirade.

 

Marcus had appeared by then, and quickly ran over to wrap his wife in a hug. He also glared at Johan, but before he too could rage, the mage said, “Siesta’s safe.” As the farmer’s scowl lessened in favor of confusion, Johan added, “She’s up at the windmill.”

 

“The windmill?” Marcus repeated.

 

**Line Break**

 

Siesta awoke to a rooster’s crow. As a child, she loved the sound. It meant that it was time to get up and run around and play. But then, as she grew older, started to work, and grew to dislike her family’s way of life, she began to dread the fowl’s foul cry. It did help her get in the habit of getting up early, though, so in the end it was a boon.

 

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and arching her back with a small yawn. After rubbing the tiredness away, she frowned confusedly at the lack of a roof over her head. It took another moment of staring at the brightening sky for her to realize that she didn’t return to her room last night. She looked down, recalling that, as she and Louise kept on trying to narrow down what kind of dragon was in the Cairn, her friend unclipped her cloak for them to bundle up in as the night grew colder. Siesta bit her lip; at least it hadn’t rained.

 

She looked to her side, and she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she took in the sight of Louise. The smaller girl was curled in on herself, her half of the makeshift blanket drawn up to her neck. Her peach-pink hair gently framing her smiling, sleeping face. Siesta could recall the few times she’d seen Louise back at the Academy—despite the mage’s short stature, she left an impression. Back then, her face was either set in an annoyed frown, or an enraged scowl.

 

Siesta much preferred this look on her friend’s face. She laughed softly; if someone had told her that she’d end up being, dare she say, good friends with the infamous Louise de la Vallière, she’d have recommended that person see a doctor.

 

Louise shifted in her sleep, mumbling something. With her eyes still closed, she stretched underneath the cloak, smacking her lips, letting her arms splay out. Which led to her right hand falling on the back of Siesta’s left hand. Louise, eyes still closed, frowned lightly, giving Siesta’s hand an experimental squeeze.

 

Smiling, Siesta turned her hand around, squeezing back. She leaned forward slightly, hovering over her face. “Time to wake up, Louise, she whispered.

 

The young mage’s pink eyes fluttered open. She lifted her free hand, tiredly running her hand across her face. She stretched, groaning lightly, “Why’s my back so stiff?”

 

“Sleeping on a roof will do that,” Siesta said with a laugh.

 

“A _what_?!” Louise shot up, jerking her head from side-to-side. “…We fell asleep?” she mumbled disbelievingly.

 

A nod. “Thanks for the blanket,” Siesta said, lifting up Louise’s cloak with her free hand.

 

The young mage sighed, “At least we didn’t get cold.” She pushed the cloak off; but something distracted her, making her pause. Siesta followed her gaze, eyes falling upon their conjoined hands.

 

Siesta belatedly realized that they’d been holding hands for the past few minutes. Suddenly, her cheeks heated up, and a quick look up revealed that Louise’s face had colored red as well. Her friend quickly pulled her hand away, and Siesta, oddly, found herself missing the warmth it provided.

 

“Er…I’m sorry, about that,” Louise said, rubbing her hand.

 

Siesta waved her arms before them, “O-Oh, it’s no trouble! It’s not as if we held hands all through the night!” she tapered off into a nervous smile.

 

Smiling uneasily, Louise brushed her hair behind her ear. (Siesta absently thought the gesture to be cute). The young Noble then frowned, tilting her head, “Did you hear that?”

 

Siesta blinked, shaking her head, “What?”

 

“That sound, some sort of shrill…screech.” Louise rose to her feet, “I think it came from the house.”

 

Siesta turned around, narrowing her eyes and focusing her ears. While she couldn’t hear a screech, she could hear a great deal of commotion. Her eyes widened when she saw Johan running from the loft to the house. She gulped, rising to her feet, “We should go.” Louise wordlessly agreed, having already opened the trapdoor leading down.

 

They hadn’t even made it halfway before Siesta was tackled to the ground by her mother.

 

“Oh! You’re safe!” her mother cried. Siesta could do naught but stare incredulously as she was hugged fiercely, peppered with kisses. Yet, before she could utter so much as a ‘huh?’, her mother’s good mood disappeared. She leaned back, dragging Siesta up by her collar. “What were you thinking?!” she shouted, roughly shaking her. “Do you know how worried we were when we realized you weren’t in your room?!”

 

“I-I-I-I d-d-didn’t m-m-m-mean t-t-t-to s-s-s-stay o-o-out s-s-so l-l-l-late,” she managed to splutter out.

 

“It’s my fault.” Her mother stopped, and Siesta was never more thankful for her friend. Though her vision was blurry, she could see that Louise stood tall as her mother turned her rage to her. “I had some questions about the dragon within your Cairn, and I knew Siesta planned on stargazing from the windmill, so I decided to ask her last night instead of waiting for the morning.” She then blushed, looking down at her feet and bashfully mumbling, “But then we fell asleep.”

 

Siesta heard a snicker; Father, by the sound of it. That snicker quickly became a panicked gulp when Mother turned to glare at him. She then sighed, anger fading as she returned her attention to Siesta, gently cupping her face. It was only then that she saw how bloodshot her eyes were, saw the stains of tears on her face.

 

Siesta sniffed, raising her arms and pulling her mother into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she said as she rested her head in the crook of her mother’s neck, “I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Oh, it’s alright sweetie,” her mother replied, soothingly rubbing the back of her head. “You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” Siesta smiled warmly. “But you’re going to be taking care of Aunt Margot’s chores for the day, on top of your own.”

 

“What?!” Siesta pulled back, staring wide-eyed at her mother. “But that’s not—”

 

“You do realize the ruckus we raised in our panic?” Mother asked with an arched brow.

 

Siesta frowned, but she could hear the faint sound of crying infants carried by the wind. She winced, “Yes, Mother.”

 

Her mother didn’t verbally reply. Instead squeezing her arms reassuringly and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. She helped her to her feet, after which Father swept her up into a fierce hug.

 

He sighed deeply, relieved, and kissed the top of her head, “…From now on, you tell us when you’re at the windmill.”

 

Siesta blushed, nodding into his chest, “Yes, Father.”

 

He pulled back, smiling down at her. He rubbed her shoulders, and then turned to his wife, linking arms and walking back to the house. Siesta followed for a moment, only to pause and turn around to make sure Louise was close behind. Only for her face to fall at the sight of the young Noble’s head turned towards the ground, mouth twisted into a grimace.

 

Siesta hated that. Hated that her friend’s home life was so terrible that seeing something like basic affection made her turn in on herself. But before she could move in and try and comfort her, Johan slipped in out of nowhere, tapping her on the shoulder.

 

“What did you find out about the dragon?” he asked.

 

His student jolted, “Wha—ah, yes.” She cleared her throat, reaching into her satchel, “well, we were unable to precisely name it, but we did narrow it down to a few sub-species.” She took out what Siesta had learned was her personal note-taking journal, opening it up and showing it to her Master.

 

He hummed, stroking his beard as he read through the notes. “Why?” he shifted his gaze to his student, walking forward towards the house. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d be interested in.”

 

Louise sighed, throwing her hands up in the air, as she did her best to match his stride. “I _know_! But apparently this dragon’s corpse hasn’t rotted one bit.”

 

The elder mage paused. He turned an incredulous eye to Siesta, who nodded. “…That’s odd.”

 

“No kidding,” Louise said with a scoff. She gently dragged the journal down, pointing at a specific passage she’d written. “From what Siesta could recall, it’s a quadruped with wings sprouting off its back. Its scales are pitch-black, and it’s tail is shaped like an axe.”

 

“Really?” Johan hummed.

 

“Yes. That’s what helped narrow it down the most; very few species of dragons have tails resembling weapons. Of course,” her mood darkened slightly, “none of the books you gave me specified what weapons those tails looked like.”

 

“Something to look into further,” her master replied. “What else were you able to ascertain?”

 

“Well, there’s a couple other things that didn’t help with determining the species but are odd nonetheless. Like its constant sulfuric-stench. Or its supposedly immaculate fangs.”

 

Siesta stayed a few steps behind them, not really paying any attention to their discussion, but nonetheless happy that Louise’s melancholic demeanor had lifted.

 

**Line Break**

 

Unfortunately, even with Master Johan’s assistance, Louise was still unable to establish exactly what type of dragon laid within the Cairn. She believed it to be a Gallian Shadow-Leaper; if only for the fact that it was in a cave. But her master was adamant that they consider the possibility that Siesta’s grandfather and his companions had lured the dragon there in the first place—unfortunately, no one in the family, not even Juliet, could definitively answer that question (Louise couldn’t help but curse Rowley’s unwillingness to tell his family any details of the battle beyond ‘My friends died’. Although, considering that fact, she honestly couldn’t judge the man too harshly). Which led to his belief that the dragon was a Germanian Coal Crusher; he was of a mind that the ‘axe’ was really just some thicker spikes than was usual for the species. They’d gone back and forth for hours, only relenting in their discourse when the sun started to set.

 

Regardless, they’d be able to perform a close-up examination of the dead beast today, when they finally entered the Cairn today.

 

Louise was honestly surprised by how quickly the family got everything ready. After sunrise, they’d told Louise, Johan, and Derflinger that they’d need about an hour to get ready. The three of them had already gathered their things before eating breakfast, and were just waiting at the front porch, catching glimpses of the Commoner family through the windows. With upwards of twenty people—half of those people being younger than twelve—she expected a lot more unrestrained chaos. But no, aside from some pushing and shoving by some of the younger children, everything ran smoothly.

 

Her master viewed the scene with amusement. “I’ve seen armies’ function less efficiently.”

 

Louise nodded in agreement. Occasionally one or both of her parents were called to the Royal Palace to assist with their drills. Once, they even brought her along. That one drill she’d witnessed was a disaster though. Forget the Duchess, the _Duke_ was the one most enraged by the incompetence on display that day. In all her life, even if it wasn’t directed at her, it was the only time she’d ever felt fear towards her father. But then—and she smiled at the memory—when he they were leaving the castle that day, he quickly took notice of her fear, and scooped her up in his arms, planting her on his shoulders and taking a long, circuitous run through the gardens before returning to the carriage (Not even her mother’s disapproving glare could spoil the memory).

 

She then blinked, fully registering her master’s sentence. She furrowed her brow, staring up at him. “What do you know about armies?”

 

He grunted, staring down at her with grim eyes. “I was—still am, actually—a member of my nation’s military.”

 

Louise could not help the shocked “Come again?” that spilled through her lips.

 

The blade was of a mind, it seemed. “ _You’re_ in the military?” it asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _You_?” it repeated.

 

Her master’s face twitched, “Is that so unbelievable?”

 

“I think what it means,” Louise said slowly, “is that it’s…well, it’s hard to imagine you…” she trailed off, failing to think of how to best put her thoughts to words.

 

“Following orders?” he asked amusedly. Louise shrugged. “Well,” a wry smirk graced his lips, “my military career was not a typical one.”

 

“How so?”

 

“To start, instead of going through the standard recruitment process—you know, you show up, perform some sort of physical test—I had to clear out a fort overrun by bandits by myself.”

 

“What?” both Louise and the blade blurted out.

 

“It wasn’t all that hard,” he said with a laugh. “Getting back to report my success was the more difficult part. Especially after…” he trailed off, lips curling into a stern frown.

 

“After what?”

 

A tired sigh, “A great many things.” He didn’t elaborate beyond that; opting to turn around and stare up at the sky

 

Louise frowned, but before she could further question him, the front door opened. Out stepped Marcus, who’d shed his normal wear for a more rugged-looking set of leather clothes; along with a large backpack and a strange looking metal pipe, which he held in his hands.

 

“What’s with the pipe?” the blade asked the question all three of them were thinking.

 

Marcus shrugged, “You’ll see. But you might want to step back for bit; got a rollcall to do.”

 

The trio stepped away from the house, various levels of amused as the substantial family made their way to the front yard—so quickly that Siesta didn’t even stop to wave. Louise could not contain her shock as Marcus quickly and succinctly called out names and checked them off a mental list, never missing a name. “I swear, no family should be _this_ large.” At her master’s amused snort, she added, “Oh, c’mon! Not even Royal Families have this many kin!”

 

“Do you recall,” he said with a laugh, “that Siesta said that she had family _outside_ of Tarbes.”

 

It took a moment for his words to sink in. But sink in they did. Her jaw dropped, mind unwilling to comprehend the potential mass of light-skinned, dark-haired men, women, and children. Only her master’s laugh shook her from her mad vision.

 

Quickly enough, Marcus finished his rollcall. And after giving some words of warning, gestured with his staff to western forest. Predictably, the younger children all ran off at full speed, leaving their older siblings and cousins to run after and try and keep them all in-line.

 

The remaining adults laughed amongst themselves, but those that did not hold an infant in their arms—or had an arm linked with the aged Juliet, as was the case with Alan—did quickly pick up the pace.

 

“Think they’ll need any help?” the blade said as the three of them finally started to follow the group.

 

The younger mage snorted, “They’ve been doing this for years, haven’t they?”

 

“Still,” her master contemplatively stated, “there are quite a lot of them. And the woods,” he gestured to the approaching tree line, “are vast. It would be easy to lose track of one child. If only there were a way to see through the very trees themselves.” He grinned at her deadpan stare, “I said, _if onl_ —“

 

“I heard you the first time!” she barked back, already reaching into her satchel to grab her notes on Alteration. “How many of them are there?” she asked.

 

“Thirty total,” the blade supplied. Louise offered a quick, ‘Thank-you,’ and flipped through her notes, stopping at the relevant passages on the _Detect Life_ spell.

 

A simple spell in concept; allowing one to view a person’s life-energy, no matter what barrier lay before you. However, like most things, in practice was another matter.

 

“ _Detect Life_ ,” its titular tome had said, “unlike the majority of Alteration spells you’ve no doubt used on yourself till now, only affects one part of the body—the eyes. And yet, it is among the most difficult to master. For it does not actually affect the physical organ. Rather, it affects how your mind perceives the world. Mortals—even Mages—are limited beings. We are unable to comprehend the true reality that lies before us. _Detect Life_ aims to widen your perception of reality. However, you must take great care to only slightly lift the veil covering your sight. Lift it too much, and you may find yourself going mad.”

 

The first time she’d read that passage, she was not afraid to admit she was worried. Alteration magic was already a tricky subject. But her master assured her that she would be fine. Even when she showed him the worrying passage, he merely laughed and said, “That is a worry for the weak-willed. You’re a lot of things, mah lahzey, but weak is not one of them.” She could still feel the warmth his compliment brought to her.

 

It took only a moment for her to read through her notes, and another to summon forth the necessary energy for the spell. But it was only when a small ball of purple mist swirled in her hand that she started to cast the spell.

 

She held her hand out, fingers splayed out, palm facing upward, as the ball of mist expanded slightly, leaking, for lack of a better term, off her hand. Her vision darkened for a moment, but before she had time to panic, it came roaring back. She was momentarily taken aback by the unholy mass of blue light ahead of her, Nevertheless, she quickly narrowed her eyes, scanning for any blue lights _away_ from the conglomerate. She was able to confirm as much after a few seconds, but before she could cancel the spell, her master said, “Keep it up; let’s test your limits.” She obliged. It took about two minutes for the spell to naturally fizzle out, the blue lights disappearing from view.

 

Master Johan hummed, “You’re Magicka reserves are increasing at a steady clip.”

 

That brought a smile to her lips. She then asked, “What about you, Master? How long can you keep the spell up?”

 

At that, he sighed, staring up at the sky. “That’s a good question.” He was silent for a moment, “I suppose if I wanted to try, I could keep it up for at least an hour. Longer, with the right enchantments.”

 

“But the spells flawed, isn’t it?” Louise and her master both turned their attention to the blade. “I mean, you have to constantly pour energy into the spell, right? Not to mention having holding your arm up for however long you want the spell to last?”

 

“Well,” her master replied, “with mastery you’ll find that you don’t have to hold your arm up.” To demonstrate this, he kept his arms at his side, and perfectly cast the _Detect Life_ spell from his right hand. “It just helps beginner mages to actually see the different stages of the spell.” Louise nodded along with his words; wand-type magic had a similar practice. Her own mother could cast the most complicated Wind-type spells with but a flick of the wrist and a harsh bellow.

 

“But yes,” Master Johan continued, “it is a difficult spell to use efficiently. People have invented a few workarounds over the years, though.”

 

“Like that spell you cast a couple times last night and this morning?” the blade asked, “What was it, ‘lass’, ‘loss’?”

 

“LAAS,” the elder mage gently corrected. “And yes, it does have advantages over the _Detect Life_ spell.”

 

“How advanced is it?” Louise couldn’t wait to learn such a spell.

 

“Oh, I’m not going to teach it to you.” Before she had the chance to get offended, her master quickly said, “Not that I wouldn’t like to. It’s just…” he trailed off for a moment. Then, a sigh, “That type of magic is known as the _Thu’um_ , and its spells are called ‘Shouts’. And learning it is an…involved process.”

 

“How involved?” Louise asked, curiosity overtaking her momentary indignation.

 

“It takes years to master one-third of a whole spell.”

 

“…What?” both she and the blade whispered in shock.

 

Her master stroked his beard. “…I haven’t told you anything of Dovah, have I, Louise?” She shook her head; this was the first she’d ever heard such a word. “It’s a term for the dragons of my homeland. The kind of dragon Odahviing—the dragon you summoned—is.”

 

“Well, what does that have to do with anything?” Louise asked.

 

A chuckle, “The Thu’um is the language of Dovah.”

 

Louise narrowed her eyes, “They can speak?” At his nod, she then said, “So, they are a sub-class of Rhyme Dragon?”

 

Johan shook his head, “No. For one thing, their anatomy is too different.” Louise recalled that the now-named dragon—Dovah, she internally corrected—Odahviing, was a type of Wyvern. “For another, Dovah are…prouder.”

 

“Prouder?” the blade parroted.

 

“Yes.” Another bout of silence. “Derflinger, you said that Rhyme Dragons were fond of games? Of playing with humans?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Louise quickly interrupted her master. “How do you know that?” she questioned the blade.

 

“Oh right, we haven’t told you,” the blade murmured. “I’ve regained some of my memories. A couple of those memories involved me being used to kill Rhyme Dragons.”

 

“…Ah.” Louise was at a loss. Until a disturbing though came to light, “Hold on…You know how they act, but you also killed them. Does that mean…?” she trailed off, the thought making her queasy.

 

“That one of my previous wielders lived among Rhyme Dragons, only to later kill them for parts? Yes,” the blade said with fake cheer.

 

“…So, the Thu’um?” Louise said in an admittedly poor attempt to change to subject.

 

Her master snorted, but replied, “It’s similar to the School of Alteration, in the sense that you manipulate reality to your desires. But it’s much more…direct. And powerful. You know how Dragons breath fire.” At her nod, he said, “Well, Dovah don’t do that. Instead, using the Thu’um, they perform a Shout that simply summons flames from nothing.”

 

Louise frowned, tilting her head, “How does that work?”

 

At that, her master scratched the back of his head, “That’s hard to explain. Have any of the Alteration books I’ve given you mentioned Tonal Architecture?” She shook her head. “Well, then we’re not going to go over it quite yet.”

 

Louise pouted, “Can’t you just demonstrate it?”

 

Johan cast a critical eye at their surroundings. He chuckled, “No, not here. Once we leave Tarbes, perhaps.”

 

“Very well,” Louise accepted his answer. She couldn’t wait to try her hand at this ‘Thu’um’ magic. She highly doubted she’d need as much time as he suspected; it if were anything like the other Schools of Magic, once she passed the initial hurdle, the rest would come easily enough. She’d put her all into it, as soon as they left this place behind. It and it’s people. It’s Common, joyful, loving people.

 

…Why couldn’t she be more excited about that?

 

“Miss Louise!”

 

The young mage came to a stop as Seth split off from the group—to the snickers of some of his family, to her chagrin. Thankfully, Siesta split off as well, casually keeping up with her younger brother.

 

She heard a chuckle from her side. Then, a large hand gently clapped her shoulder, “I think I’ll leave you and your admirer be.” Louise had to fight to keep the annoyed scowl off her face, which only got harder when the blade guffawed.

 

By the time her master moved ahead, Seth slid to a stop. Unfortunately, he slid in a patch of mud, spraying mud on her boots. The young boy had the grace to look embarrassed, “Oh. Sorry, Miss Louise.”

 

Louise looked down at her boots. She sighed, reaching down to rub away a couple flecks that managed to get on her skin, “Don’t worry about it,” she said in her most neutral voice.

 

“Seth.” The pair turned to a Siesta, a stern frown on her face, arms crossed in front of her chest. The boy gulped. “What have we told you about needlessly running?”

 

“To not,” her brother bashfully mumbled.

 

Siesta hummed, frown still on her face. Which then disappeared in favor of a soft smirk. She walked forward a couple steps, ruffling his hair, “Ah, it’s alright.” She laughed when he none-to-gently shoved her hand away. “Didn’t you want to tell Louise something?”

 

Her brother nodded, turning to Louise with a resolute frown. “You want to know more about the monster, right?”

 

Louise lifted her eyes towards Siesta, “Someone’s been flapping their gums.” Her friend just smiled brightly. Returning her attention to the boy, she said, “Yes. Master Johan and I want to take a look at it.”

 

“Well,” Seth puffed his chest up, “I can help you.”

 

“Can you now?” Louise asked with a smirk.

 

“Yup!” Seth gestured grandly at himself, “I’m the bravest one here! Even Julien and Anton don’t like getting near the dead monster.”

 

“And you’re not afraid?”

 

“No!” Siesta snorted, prompting him to whirl around on her, “I’m not!” Siesta just chuckled, saying nothing in reply.

 

Seth glared at her for a moment. His expression brightened when he turned back to Louise. “What do you say, Miss?”

 

She smiled softly, “I’d be delighted.” The boy beamed and turned around to lead the way forward. Louise took a moment to exchange smiles with Siesta, then followed after him.

 

**Line Break**

 

It didn’t take them too long to reach the Cairn, all things considered. Briefly, Johan wished that Tullius and Rikke could see this; he really wasn’t kidding when he said he’d seen armies move with less cohesion.

 

But such thoughts brought a wave of sadness. Even now, the good General’s death stung. Though, Johan suspected the man himself didn’t truly mind the way he died. After all, his murder at the hands of a band of Forsworn were what rallied the people of Skyrim to finally put the mad Reachmen down, bringing the land closer together in the wake of Ulfric’s rebellion. To say nothing of the fact that man himself killed at least a dozen Forsworn and one Briarheart before they finally did him in—were he a Nord, such a death would be a one-way ticket to Sovngarde.

 

He put his Thu’um to good use, during those long months. Too much good use, a number of people had told him.

 

He tore himself away from his memories when Marcus called out, “Who wants to open the way?” At the moment, all Johan could see was a solid rock wall, but he’d been told that they hide the entrance to keep unwanted visitors out. He supposed this was another way to keep the younger members of the family entertained.

 

Immediately, a gaggle of children surged forward, crying, “Me! Me! Me!”

 

Marcus chuckled, “Easy, easy.” He rubbed his chin, “Hmmm…Laurie, Ricky, Annette, Anton, and Maggie.” Before the non-chosen children could complain, he said, “The rest of you can close it up,” which did keep them from whining.

 

He beckoned the five chosen children closer, hefting his long metal pipe. He held one of the ends up, facing the wall. He took a couple seconds to steady his hand, and then slowly pushed the pipe forward, slotting it into an outcrop. After sinking about a quarter of it in, he stepped back. “Go on,” he said.

 

The five children immediately rushed forward, haphazardly gripping the pipe. Errant cries of ‘stop shoving!’ and ‘watch it!’ quickly arose.

 

From the crowd, someone chuckled. Juliet, Johan easily recognized as the owner of the voice. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to figure it out?”

 

“Depends on if Anton and Annette remember that they’ve done this before,” Margot replied.

 

“Not soon then,” Lou’s wife, May, said with a chortle.

 

Thankfully, the children did get ahold of themselves. They all gathered on one side, and with all their might, pushed on the pipe.

 

Johan expected it to click and reveal a hidden doorway within the rock. He did not expect the part of the wall the pipe was embedded in to _move_ , releasing a hiss as stale air rushed out into the open. The children pushed and pushed, but in the end could only move the boulder hiding the entrance a quarter of the way, the bar moving too high for all but Annette to grab—and even then, the girl had to stand on her toes.

 

It was at that point that Marcus called the children off. “Well done!” he praised as he grabbed the pipe, pushing it open the rest of the way and removing the pipe.

 

As the family made their way into the cliff, Johan hung back with Louise. He eyed the entryway, grimacing slightly.

 

“What’s the problem, Boss?” Derflinger asked.

 

“Probably as shocked as I am by those displays of strength,” Louise muttered from his side.

 

“Not that,” Johan told her. At her bewildered grunt, he added, “I mean, yes, but when he said they hid the entrance, I was expecting some shrubbery, maybe a pile of rocks behind that.” He couldn’t repress the chill that travelled down his spine, “Caves that can only be entered via a manmade mechanism—even one as crude as this—are…worrying.”

 

“Eh, I think you’re just psyching yourself out, Boss. These people have been visiting this place for years.” Johan agreed with his friends’ words but could not take them to heart. Thus, he led Louise inside.

 

The inside of the cave was unnaturally bright. Johan expected torches and was pleasantly surprised to see a few skylights at the roof of the cave. Not a bad place to inter your dead.

 

Upon entering the main room of the cave, he could see holes carved in the sides of the cave. Little hovels fit only for a single body—or some urns, as was the case with a few of the holes. The bodies were held within plain wooden caskets, with names carved into the sides. The urns were painted steel, with names carved on the covers.

 

But what drew his attention were the three graves at the far end of the cave, which were in front of a coffin slightly more ornate than the rest. Rowley and his comrades, he deduced. Marcus and his family were all there; some kneeling, some standing. But all of them, down to the rowdiest child, were silent. Solemn.

 

Looking to his side, Johan could see Louise staring at their surroundings with a thoughtful expression. “What are your family’s burial traditions?” he asked.

 

Louise hummed lightly, “There’s a lake on our property. Near that lake is a large hill. For generations, members of the De Vallière have been buried atop that hill.” She turned her head down, “Even the insignificant ones.” A slight pause. “And you, Master?”

 

Johan took a moment to think of an answer. “…Traditionally, my remains would be returned to my hometown, to be buried in the local graveyard. But,” he smiled melancholically, “I’ve had a mind to eschew tradition.”

 

“In what way?” Derflinger softly queried.

 

Johan turned his head up, staring at the sky through the skylight. “I’d like to have my body cremated; and my ashes spread at the highest peak of the world.” He chuckled, “With any luck, the wind will carry my remains to all the corners of the world.”

 

Louise sniffed, but said nothing.

 

Johan shifted his gaze away from his student, returning it to the cavern. Far to his right, he could see a path leading further in. No doubt to where the dragon corpse laid.

 

But there’d be time for that later. He told his student, “We should pay our respects.”

 

She nodded, walking forward with him. “We’ll see the dragon after?”

 

“You go on ahead. I’d like to walk around for a bit. What about you, Derflinger? Would you like to go with Louise to see the corpse as soon as possible?”

 

“…Sure. You look like you’ll be a while, Boss.” Johan nodded, and the three came to a stop a few feet away from the group.

 

The younger mage stayed on her feet, fidgeting nervously but otherwise staying quiet. Johan clasped his hands in front of his chest, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

 

It was always a dangerous activity, reminiscing on those lost. Especially for one such as he, who had lived for so long, knew so many. But it was good to do so, every now and then. Kept him grounded; reminded him of what was left behind. What was left to do.

 

So lost was he in his memories, that he didn’t notice that family had disbanded until he felt a tug on his sleeve. He lifted his head slightly, opening his eyes to see Louise and Siesta. His student said, “Siesta’s going to show me the corpse now.”

 

He nodded, unclipping Derflinger from his belt and handing him over. “Later, then.” She nodded and left with Siesta further into the cave.

 

Looking around, he could see that about half of the family was still in the cave; walking about the graves. Paying their respects to individuals. The only ones still at Rowley’s grave were Marcus and Sylvia. He decided to take the long way around, though.

 

Walking to his left, he came upon Juliet, Alan, and a few of the children, the former gently running her hand along a coffin. ‘Richard’ it said. Her late husband. He stopped, inclining his head slightly.

 

“Are you married, Johan?” Juliet asked without turning around.

 

“No,” the Nord replied.

 

“Oh, I see.”

 

“There were opportunities, though,” the mage said with a wistful, bitter laugh.

 

“Why not then?” Alan asked.

 

He thought on the women in his life. _The_ woman of his life. “…Fear.”

 

A couple of the children gasped, and even Alan looked at him in surprise. Juliet though, nodded solemnly. “An unfortunate, but understandable, reason.”

 

Johan grunted, and moved on.

 

A few graves ahead, Lou, his wife May, and their three children were kneeling before an urn. May had a few tears running down her face, as did her eldest child, Edwin. Belatedly, Johan realized that though there weren’t any child-sized coffins, some urns were smaller than others.

 

Johan stepped forward, waiting until someone—Lou—turned to acknowledge him. “Who were they?”

 

“May’s mother, Alice,” Lou replied, quietly stepping closer to Johan so as to whisper.

 

“Ah,” the knot forming in Johan’s gut released slightly. “How long?”

 

“Couple years. There’s this type of berry that only grows in the winter. She was usually so careful…” Lou trailed off, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

 

“My sympathies.” Johan had always thought accidental deaths were the worst type of death. Disease and age, you could take time—even if it were short, in the latter’s case—to process. Murder? Well, he’d always been a big fan of revenge. But accidents? They never failed to sucker-punch you at the worst moment.

 

With nothing more to say, he left them to mourn.

 

Finally, he made it to Rowley’s grave. It looked a bit more ornate than the others; he could spot some gold lining the edge of the coffin. By contrast, his friend’s graves, though well-maintained, were just slabs of stone over slightly raised ground. But then, Rowley probably had to bury and mark his friend’s graves alone; by the time he himself died, he had a veritable clan to prepare his grave.

 

He then, finally, got a proper look at the three headstones.

 

And his blood froze.

 

Marcus grunted, gesturing to the graves. “Strange letters, eh?”

 

“Grandpa refused to teach them to anyone,” Sylvia smirked wryly, “Said that he wasn’t the most learned man, and that we’d never need to use it anyway. He did tell us what these means, though. The names are—”

 

“Niravel. Gerard. Dinah.” Johan said, falling to his knees and running a hand along Niravel’s gravestone, along the sharp runes that made up her name.

 

Marcus and Sylvia gasped, “You can read it?!” the former said

 

“So it is Germanian!” said the latter.

 

“These is not Germanian script,” Johan’s voice was hollow, disbelieving. “These…are Nordic Runes.”

 

“‘Nordic’?” Marcus repeated confusedly. “I’ve never heard of—”

 

“ **AEDRA!!** ” something roared from further in the cave.

 

Marcus stumbled from the force of the cry. “What in the—?!”

 

But Johan was already sprinting towards the source.

 

**Line Break**

 

“…You undersold how huge this thing is,” Louise said as she slowly walked up to the corpse at the end of the cave. It truly was massive; even as it lay slumped over, Louise could tell she wouldn’t even come up to its knee. But still, even a beast as large as this wasn’t invincible. It’s two wings had massive holes in them, and the left one looked broken. It’s one good eye—the other one looked like it was slashed apart by a blade—was glassy and black as the starless night sky. Its head was on its side, jaw propped open with its large, barbed tongue flopped on the ground. A tongue that, Louise noticed, didn’t look one bit dry or shriveled. Curious, to be sure.

 

She then frowned, comparing the size of the hole they’d travelled through to the corpse’s size. “Wait…that entryway is too small for this beast to have travelled through.”

 

Siesta shrugged, “Didn’t you say you thought it lived here?”

 

A nod. “But Master Johan believes it might have been lured here.”

 

“There’s a hole way up top,” Julien said suddenly. Louise looked up, shielding her eyes as the sun’s rays shone overhead. There was indeed a hole. But even that looked a bit on the small side. Even if it lived in the cave, how would it have left to feed?

 

“You see it too, little lady?” the blade said.

 

“See what?” Seth piped up.

 

Louise voice her thoughts. “It doesn’t make sense. Your great-grandfather couldn’t have lured the beast in here, the only useable entrance is far too small. Nor could it have already lived here because,” she pointed up at the ceiling, “I’m pretty sure that hole is also too small for a beast that size.”

 

“So…what are you saying?” Siesta asked with a furrowed brow.

 

Louise scowled lightly, “I don’t know, honestly. We’ll have to wait for Master Johan. He’ll—”

 

“… **RA** …”

 

Louise froze. “Did you hear that?”

 

Seth scrunched up his nose, “…The wind?”

 

“… **D…RA…** ”

 

“That’s not wind,” Derflinger said warily.

 

Louise followed the sound, closer to the corpse; if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that it came _from_ the deceased dragon.

 

“Louise,” the blade said, “back away, slowly.”

 

“What are you—"

 

A burst of warm air escaping from the beast’s gaping maw halted any new thoughts. “… **DRA** …” it breathed.

 

Louise slowly, fearfully, turned around. The corpse’s lone good eye was no longer a lifeless black. It had a pupil now; a red pupil that burned like the flames of hell.

 

“ **AE…DRA** …” it hissed, slowly moving its jaw.

 

“…ise!”

 

Louise, frozen, fell back, barely catching herself.

 

“ **AED…RA** …” The corpse shifted, lifting its head and bracing its forearms against the ground.

 

“…uise!”

 

“ **AEDRA** …” The beast rose, shakily, on its hindlegs, wings flapping, despite their damage.

 

“Louise!” A strong hand gripped her shoulder, and Louise found herself hoisted into the air by Siesta. “Come on!”

 

“ **AEDRA!!** ” The beast stood tall, lifting its head up, its earsplitting roar echoing throughout the cave.

 

The pain shook Louise from her shock. She stumbled out of Siesta’s grasp, gasping as she hit the ground. “I-I-Is everyone safe?” she stammered as Siesta pulled her up.

 

“Not for long,” Julien whispered fearfully.

 

Louise turned to see the beast was rearing its head back, chest puffing out as it breathed in. Louise knew what it was doing; preparing to breath fire or some other element at them. It was also vulnerable to attack. But even though she knew this; even knew a spell—a wand-type Earth spell called _Iron Spikes_ —that would prove effective and also by them time to run, she couldn’t move. She could barely breath. Could barely do anything except cling tighter to Siesta.

 

**_“FUS RO DAH!!_** ”

 

Thunder sounded from behind them, and a massive torrent of blue energy soared above. The energy wave impacted the beast with a booming _CRASH_. It roared agonizingly as it fell backwards, its wings snapping against its back, the sound of bone breaking barely audible over its screeching.

 

“ ** _TIID KLO UL!_** _”_

 

Louise wasn’t entirely sure what happened. One moment, she had a clear view of the beast as it struggled to its feet. The next moment, a black blur stood in front of her, and though she couldn’t see past this blur, she could hear lightning impact the beast, drawing out more pained bellows.

 

Then, the blur became less blurry. “Everyone, run,” a familiar, if muffled, voice said.

 

Louise stared in awe as the blur finally came into focus. “Master Johan?” she breathed as he turned around.

 

The man looked like a demon. He wore pitch-black armor, but that armor had spots on it that pulsated a red—no, blue…green…a veritable rainbow—glow. His gauntlets ended at clawed tips. The helmet had two black voids where the eyeholes should have been, and three pairs of sharp, deadly horns coming out from the back of it.

 

“Now, Loiuse!” Louise felt Siesta pull her along.

 

“Wait, Boss!” the blade said from her back, “I can help!”

 

Her Master chuckled; which sounded much more sinister given the muffle and glow from his armor. “I appreciate it, Derflinger, but I already have weapons for such occasions.” It was then that she noticed the weapons strapped on his person. A pair of bone-white, jagged axes on his hips. Thin black daggers strapped all along his body. And on his back, a thick, bronze crossbow, and a red blade that glowed similarly to his armor.

 

“But—”

 

“GO!” Master Johan bellowed, before turning back around to the beast. “…Don’t worry,” he said, voice warm and reassuring, “ I won’t be long.”

 

Siesta was pulling her along with earnest now, practically dragging her along. The last thing Louise saw before rounding a corner was the beast back on its feet, roaring as her master confidently strode forward.

 

**A/N: How many of you have played _Elder Scrolls Online_? As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

Draconic Happenings

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

“ **AEDRAA!** ” the Daedric Titan—of which Johan never before had the pleasure of meeting—roared once more, having recovered from the lightning bolt to the chest.

 

He sighed, crossing his arms and coming to a stop. “Yes, yes; you’re in the presence of a being with an Aedric soul. Any other astute observations?”

 

“ **AEDRAA!** ” the beast bent its head back, roaring.

 

The Nord scoffed, “Is that all you can say?”

 

The dragon’s jaw snapped shut. It dropped its head, it’s one good eye glaring at Johan, snout split into a cruel smirk. Its chest puffed up, and it shouted…something indecipherable. But that didn’t really matter, because a ball of blue energy shot forward from its maw. Johan, instead of trying to dodge like a normal man would do in that situation, just stood still as a statue, taking the full-force of the attack.

 

Two things of note happened to the mage. One: the energy collided with his armor, flames sprouting on it, and the ground around him. He felt some magical energy seep past his armor, but other than a dull ache in his bones, felt no ill effects. Two: his Dovahsil, his draconic soul, raged at the pathetic imitation of the Thu’um.

 

The Dovahkiin laughed mockingly, “ _This_ is Molag Bal’s answer to the Dovah? I know children with greater lungs than that!” The Daedra roared, rising to full height and running forward, arms stretched out to grab him. Johan sighed, shifting a bit to his left. When the Daedra had made it within ten feet, he shouted, “ ** _WULD NAH KEST_**!” And rocketed forward, past the beast, coming to a stop a good distance beyond it.

 

Johan turned, bemused as the Daedra hurriedly slid to a stop before it hit the wall, rapidly turning its head left and right. Johan took the time to grab his crossbow from his back, carefully loading a dark-purple bolt into it. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he cleared his throat.

 

The Titan swiveled its head so fast Johan thought its neck would break. Hate shone through its one good eye. “ **AEDRAA!”** it roared.

 

The Dovahkiin rolled his eyes, “We’ve established that.” And without further preamble, fired his crossbow at his foe.

 

To its credit, the Titan crouched low to the ground, avoiding the projectile. If it were a normal bolt, it’d be in the clear. Alas, it was not.

 

The bolt landed on an outcrop along the wall, some five feet behind the Titan. Upon impact, purple lightning burst outward in a wide arc, halfway ingulfing the Daedra. It chocked, convulsing rapidly and curling in on itself.

 

Johan took the opportunity to load another electric bolt, firing it right into the Daedra’s wounded eye. Another explosion of electricity, far greater than the last on account of hitting flesh, and the monster cried out in agony, forcing it onto its knees. Another bolt, this time into an area on its chest where he could see bone. Another explosion. More screams. Again, and again, and again. To its credit, though, by the fifth bolt it learned to ignore the pain. It’s limbs, what was left of its wings, and tail were still shaking, but it was able to stand. And glare.

 

Johan aimed another bolt at its eye—the good one—but it was prepared. It blocked it with its left claw—electricity still coursed through its body, but it was able to puff its chest out in preparation of its bastardized Shout.

 

Johan decided to teach it a lesson. He sucked in a breath, “ ** _YOL…_** ”

 

“ **RAGH!** ” the Daedra roared, an orb of blue fire shooting from its maw.

 

“ ** _TOOR SHUUUUL!”_**  Johan held the last syllable, turning the usual blast of fire into a gout of flames. His Thu’um easily engulfed and overtook the Daedra’s attack, and completely enveloped the demon in orange flames. The Daedra roared, only to begin choking as fire shot down its throat. Eventually, though, Johan had to relent his assault.

 

Johan huffed lightly, “If you want, you can give up” he offered cheekily.

 

The Daedric Titan hissed, whirling around and using its claws to slink along the wall like a lizard.

 

“No one ever gives up,” he sighed as he loaded his crossbow once more.

 

**Line Break**

 

Louise stayed silent as Julien, Siesta, and the other older, and non-catatonic members of the family informed the rest of what had occurred with the dragon’s corpse—" _No, not corpse,”_ Louise thought with a shudder, “ _Definitely not a corpse_.”

 

“Louise!” the young mage abruptly turned to see Marcus staring down at her, face pale, eyes wide. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

 

Louise started to hyperventilate. No, she did not have any idea what was going on! She’d only just arrived! They’d know more than she!

 

The beast’s roar echoed from further in the cave, shaking loose some pebbles from the wall and ceiling.

 

All of the younger children were wailing now—and those that were before were wailing louder.

 

The older members of the family did their best to calm them down, but they all looked on the verge of panicking themselves.

 

_THUD_

 

“MA!”

 

Louise turned at the sound, heart leaping in her throat as Lou and Margot rushed towards their mother, who had fallen to the ground. Lou propped her up, and Louise could see that the elderly woman’s face was clammy and red, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. The panic, if at all possible, reached a fever pitch. And all Louise could do was stare helplessly.

 

A heart attack, she knew automatically. It’s what made the most sense; what with the woman’s advanced age and the stress that current events were no doubt causing.

 

“Louise!” Siesta suddenly appeared, dropping to her knees and roughly grabbing the mage by the shoulders, “You have to help us!”

 

“Help?” Louise slowly repeated. She laughed, “What the hell could I possibly do to help?!”

 

“Heal her with magic!”

 

“But I can’t—”

 

“You don’t know that,” Derflinger suddenly said. Louise had almost forgotten it was strapped to her back. Louise started to snarl, only for the blade to then say, “I _know_ Johan’s taught you healing magic—with and without a wand.” The young mage gulped. That wasn’t _wrong_ , per say. “Even if he didn’t teach you something specific for this, you can do something to help.”

 

“Louise,” Siesta cried. She turned to see her friend in tears, staring imploringly at her. “ _Please_ , you have to _try_. Please…” her friend broke off into whimpers.

 

Louise’s heart tore as Siesta sobbed. Yet, it steeled her resolve. Louise shut her eyes, curling her hands into fists as she steadied her breathing. She snapped open her eyes, rising to her feet and quickly making her way to the crowd.

 

“Move,” she sternly said. No one did. “Move!” she shouted.

 

“Give her space!” Siesta pleaded.

 

As the family member started to do that, Louise kneeled down before Juliet. The young Noble pursed her lips; Juliet looked worse than she thought.

 

“You know what this is, right?” Derflinger asked.

 

A nod, “Heart attack. Right?”

 

“We can only hope,” he muttered darkly. “You have any knowledge on how to treat this filed away in your head?”

 

Louise gulped. “N-Not really.” She admitted. “I only know that it’s because the heart is pumping too hard—er, no, it’s not pumping enough—wait—”

 

“The heart’s the issue,” the blade calmly interrupted. “Let’s try and fix that.”

 

Louise nodded. _How_ to fix it, though? She didn’t know a lot of healing magic; she’d learned some to help her arm heal after the wolf attack, but she’d mainly focused on the Schools of Destruction and Alteration, as well as combat-type wand magic.

 

She gasped, remembering a passage of water spells.

 

“It’s best to use simple water spells if you have to enter combat,” it said. “Ice-spikes, water blades, etc. Do not—despite how ‘cool’ it may seem—make a giant wave to crash over your enemies. Not only are the incantations much longer, but slip-ups can be disastrous in one of two ways. You either do nothing, wasting your energy to the point of exhaustion, or a skilled opponent can take your spell and manipulate it to heal themselves—or simply kill you.”

 

“Water,” she gasped beneath her breath. “I need water! Bottles, waterskins, anything!” she shouted aloud as she rummaged through her pack.

 

A roar from further in rocked the cave.

 

“Now!” she shouted when everyone froze. Not that she could really blame them. “And open them up!” she barked.

 

As people hurriedly placed flasks and water skins near her, Louise had pulled out a book on water spells. Louise quickly leafed through the book, only stopping when she found a relevant passage. _Aquatic Cocoon_ ; a spell meant to envelop a person in cooling waters and slowly heal internal damage. That would work.

 

Louise sucked in a breath, pulling out her wand and forcing herself to keep a steady hand as she practiced the movements.

 

“Is it working?” Someone asked.

 

“Quiet!” Louise harshly barked. She then added, a touch softer, “I need to concentrate!”

 

She took another half-minute until she felt confident enough in her movements—though she still kept the book open and flicked her eyes to it every couple of seconds. She took a steadying breath, and aimed her wand at Juliet, wand held high.

 

“Hold it!” Derflinger suddenly shouted. Louise jerked her hand, barely keeping a grip on her wand. But before she could angrily retort, he said, “We’re out of order. You need to fix her heart first.”

 

“What do you think I’m doing?!”

 

“Healing her _whole body_ , not focusing on the heart.”

 

“Louise!” Marcus harshly gasped. The young girl turned back to Juliet, sucking in a breath; her face was red as a tomato, breath coming out in short gasps.

 

“You need to cast a lightning spell on her,” the living blade suddenly said.

 

“What?” Louise all but shouted.

 

“What?!” Juliet’s family shouted.

 

“There’s a specific wand-type spell that was created to reset a heart during a violent attack. There’s also a couple different potions that need to be administered, but we’re out of luck on that front. Anyone know how to do chest compressions?!” he suddenly asked the crowd.

 

Siesta hesitantly stepped forward, “I learned back at the Academy.”

 

“Good, do that. And check her heartrate while you’re at it.”

 

Louise drew Derflinger from his sheath, narrowing her eyes as she stared into his reflective steel blade. “How do you know all this?”

 

“Long story, tell you later,” he replied gruffly. To Siesta, he said, “How’s her heartbeat?”

 

“Fast,” Siesta said with a grimace.

 

“Well, that should go down after these next couple steps,” Derflinger replied. Siesta then set her face into a determined frown, and brought her hands together over Juliet’s chest, gently, but firmly, pressing against it rhythmically.

 

Louise huffed, “Well, I don’t suppose you’d happen to know this spell.”

 

“I don’t, actually. Not the specifics.”

 

Louise snarled, “Then why—"

 

“You can shoot electricity from your fingertips, can’t you?”

 

Louise stared, gob smacked. “You want me to _what?_ ”

 

“You want her to _what_?” Siesta parroted.

 

“Keep pumping!” Derflinger’s words startled her back into her task. He then huffed, “Not _all_ of it, obviously. Just,” he grunted, “We don’t have a lot of time. Stick me in the ground, place your palms on me, and cast a lightning spell.” Louise looked back at Juliet, opening her mouth. But Derflinger cut her off, saying, “Casting that water spell now will do more harm than good! Trust me on this. Please.”

 

Louise gulped, shifting forward and sinking the living blade a few inches into the ground. She looked down at her palms, face scrunching up in concentration as she gathered magicka into her hands. Her fingers clenched, and purple lightning crackled within her palms. She quickly pressed her palms against the flat of Derfinger’s blade.

 

He hissed in pain, “Too much!” Louise lessened the spell’s energy. “That’s too little.” Louise scowled, but increased the output. “Little more…There, there! Remember this _exact_ feeling!” Louise pulled back her hands, spell still active. “Now, put one hand just below her right collarbone, and the other below her left breast.” Louise pulled a face, to which Derflinger replied with a grim chuckle, “Also, you need to touch her skin.”

 

In any other situation, Louise would have gagged. Instead, she said, “Okay, I’m going to need someone to guide my hands, because I’m…I can’t—”

 

“Make way, make way!” Margot shouted, pushing forward until she and her sister Sylvia were at the front. Siesta pulled back, allowing her aunt to quickly undo her mother’s clothes, and Sylvia gently grabbed Louise’s wrists, pulling her forward. Louise thanked the Founder—and all of Johan’s gods for good measure—that the elderly woman had a bra on.

 

Just before she placed her hand on Juliet, Derflinger suddenly said, “Everyone stand back.” Siesta, Margot, and Sylvia quickly made room. “Now, Louise.”

 

Sucking in a breath, Louise pressed her hands down on the Juliet’s body, quickly shooting out the spell into her body. Immediately, Louise smelled burning flesh, and the elderly woman’s body jerked upwards, making Louise fall back in fright. But Juliet was still panting heavily, her face still aflame.

 

“Check her heartbeat!” Derflinger commanded.

 

Siesta rushed forward. “…It’s still fast.”

 

“Okay. Louise, once more.”

 

Louise gulped, reactivating the spell and moving over to Juliet’s body. She grimaced when she saw the slightly pink flesh where her hands previously were but shoved those thoughts aside as she reassumed her previous position.

 

Casting the spell again, she was prepared when Juliet’s body jerked up again. This time, however, the woman’s breathing started to slow down, and her face lost a bit of color.

 

“Heartbeat!” Derflinger exclaimed.

 

Siesta rushed forward. She was silent for a few, tense seconds. Then, a smile bloomed across her face, “It’s slower…I think it’s normal!”

 

Relieved cries echoed around them.

 

“Are you sure?” was all Derflinger asked.

 

Siesta stayed in place for another moment. She nodded, smile still on her face. “Yes, yes I’m sure!”

 

Derflinger sighed. “Thank god.” He then said to Louise, “You can cast that water spell now.”

 

Louise nodded, grabbing her wand and the spell book. She waited until Siesta had stepped back, and slowly cast the spell. Immediately, water from the nearby containers rose up, slowly snaking their way to the elderly Commoner. It all pooled together into a gravity defying bubble at her feet, and slowly stretched out, enveloping her feet, then her legs, her chest and arms, all the way to her head, only leaving her face untouched.

 

Louise sighed, dropping her wand. She then narrowed her eyes at the burn marks on Juliet’s chest. Summoning magicka back into her hands, she called for the spell _Healing Hands_ , and cast it on the elderly woman. A golden light enveloped her body, and the burn marks quickly faded away.

 

Louise had barely cancelled the spell before she was wrapped up in a tight hug. She flailed slightly, only to cry out as another set of limbs wrapped around her. And then more and more, until she was surrounded by a veritable sea of relieved, tear-stained faces.

 

“Thank you so much!” Alan cried, a sentiment the rest of the family reciprocated.

 

Louise blushed, both at the relief in their voices, and the sudden affection. “I had help,” she muttered bashfully.

 

“Right, right,” that was Sylvia, who’d turned her head to stare at Derflinger. “Thank you, Mister…blade?”

 

“Derflinger is fine.”

 

Louise could see a number of faces scrunch up in confusion, as if they were just now realizing that Derflinger was a sentient blade. And then the beast roared once more (not that it hadn’t been periodically roaring as they were helping Juliet, but this one was louder than the rest).

 

Louise shot to her feet, any previous fatigue and relief disappearing as she recalled that her master was currently fighting for his life.

 

“Louise...” Derflinger said warily.

 

She pursed her lips, staring at the path leading further into the cave. “I…I can’t just stay here.”

 

“…Just remember to take me with you.” The young mage sharply turned her head, to which Derflinger replied, “Two heads are better than one. Three have got to be better than two.”

 

Louise grunted, pulling Derflinger from the ground and putting him back in his sheath. She turned back around, nodding at the family. “Stay put,” she said, “watch over Juliet and don’t move her. I’ll be back with Master Johan.” A few—Siesta chief among them—looked like they wanted to say something, but another harsh, inhuman bellow cut them off. Louise took the opportunity to turn around quickly make her way back to the inner cavern.

 

The beast’s roars grew louder and louder the closer she got. Yet, for all the incessant noise, she didn’t hear anything that resembled a human man’s screams. A slight relief, in light of everything else.

 

She soon came upon the path’s exit, hiding behind and couching down behind an outcrop to hide herself from the monster’s view. Not that it was needed; its attention was solely on Johan. The beast was using three of its clawed legs to cling to the wall like a lizard. It used the other hand to break off bits of the wall, hurling them at a boulder. Occasionally, a pair of black, gauntleted arms would raise a crossbow from behind the boulder, shooting at the monster. Most of them missed, but they exploded in a burst of electricity, fire, or ice, which ended up hitting the monster regardless.

 

Eventually, the monster stopped its assault, slamming its free fist against the wall. “ **AEDRA!** ” it roared. A mistake, as it granted Johan the opportunity to fire a bolt directly into its gaping maw. Ice burst forth, freezing its mouth shut. It gagged, losing its grip and crashing to the ground.

 

Louise narrowed her eyes as Johan rose from behind the rock, swapping his crossbow for the glowing red blade on his back. “There’s that word again,” she whispered.

 

“What word?”

 

“Gah!” Louise shrieked, whirling around, hand curled into a fist. She could feel it slam into something soft and fleshy.

 

“Wah!” Siesta cried, jerking back and rubbing her left cheek.

 

“Siesta!” Louise grit her teeth, “Stop sneaking up on me!”

 

“Not my fault you don’t observe your surroundings,” her friend groused. “Nice left hook, by the way.”

 

Louise scoffed, “What are you even doing here?”

 

Siesta’s features softened, “Well, I wanted to make sure you were safe. Plus, we wanted to grab Johan as soon as possible to check on Nana.”

 

Louise’s anger faded a touch. She settled for gritting her teeth, “Just…stop sneaking up on me.”

 

Siesta smirked lightly. Her lips then settled into a frown, “What were you talking about earlier? A word?”

 

“Yes,” Louise was thankful for the change in subject. She furrowed her brow, “I…I think I recognize.”

 

“ **AEDRAA**!” the beast, having freed its maw of the ice, roared.

 

Louise nodded, “I _do_ know that word. ‘Aedra’,” she repeated for Siesta’s sake.

 

“What’s it mean?”

 

“It’s a term for the gods of Johan’s homeland.” The young mage frowned, “And given the level of vitriol the thing attaches to the word, that must mean that it’s a type of Daedra—the term for the demons of Johan’s homeland.”

 

Siesta’s eyes widened. “A demon?!” she squeaked.

 

Louise nodded, “I believe so…I guess your great-grandfather didn’t kill it, back then. Must have entered some sort of sleep to regain it’s strength. But why wake up now? What changed compared to the last century?”

 

Siesta pursed her lips. She then said, “Maybe it has to do with these ‘Aedra’?”

 

The young Noble snorted, spreading her arms, “Do you see a foreign god anywhere nearby?”

 

“It was just a suggestion,” her friend said with a pout.

 

Louise rolled her eyes. “Any ideas, Derflinger?” Silence. She grunted, looking over her shoulder, “Hey, I said…ah.”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, “‘ah’.”

 

Siesta crawled forward, “What are you…ah.”

 

The ‘ah’ in question was the sight of Johan swinging the red blade that was strapped to his back. He wasn’t anywhere close to the dragon—in fact, he was fairly far away. But, as he swung his sword, crimson waves of energy shot out from it. The energy waves raced forward, impacting against the monster. The attacks themselves didn’t actually look all that painful, but there was a significant amount of force behind them, given the way the beast staggered every other impact.

 

“…I think I can do that too,” Derflinger said breathlessly.

 

“Fire off waves of energy?” Louise asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“…You want to give it a go, don’t you?” Louise deadpanned.

 

Derflinger chuckled weakly. He then said, “Look, I’m a sword. I don’t know why I can think and speak, but I know that I was made to cut things up. I,” his voice softened, “I’d like to think I was made to cut up _bad_ things.”

 

Louise returned her gaze to Master Johan and the dragon. He was keeping his distance, firing off crimson waves from his crimson blade. Occasionally dodging an azure fireball or large rock. He didn’t look like he was making any major progress, though.

 

Louise made her decision, drawing Derflinger from his sheath. “Alright, how does this work?”

 

“That’s a good question!” Louise idly noted Siesta’s amused snort. “But I think I can absorb magic.”

 

“Come again?” Louise gaped.

 

“Yeah. When you shocked me with that lightning spell I felt myself absorb a bit of it.”

 

With a quick nod, Louise laid him against the wall, charging up lightning spells in her hands. After a moment, she shot her hands forward, blasting Derflinger with purple electricity.

 

After a moment, he shouted, “Stop!” Louise halted her spell. He growled lightly, “That’s not working. I’m barely absorbing a trickle of energy.”

 

“But…lightning spells are almost pure energy.”

 

“Well, that’s foreign magic, isn’t it?” Louise turned, staring questioningly at Siesta. She continued, “Derflinger’s old, right? And no one knows about Johan’s magic. Maybe he wasn’t made to absorb it.”

 

“That…makes sense,” Louise replied. Her lips curled into a smile, “So, you did pay attention back when we were camping.”

 

“Not like there was much else to do,” Siesta replied, reciprocating the smile.

 

“Can we get back to the situation at hand, girls?”

 

A blush quickly formed across both their faces. “Er, right,” Louise said, pulling out her wand. She aimed at Derflinger, “Any…preferences?”

 

A grunt, “As long as it isn’t an earth spell.” Louise nodded—made sense; can’t really absorb solid matter.

 

She waved her wand in a figure-eight. “ _Vapor Cut_ ,” she intoned. A pale white light emitted from her wand, and with a flick of her wrist, a blue lance of wind magic jettisoned forward. Even though she’d been expecting it, it still came as a shock when, instead of impacting against Derflinger, possibly knocking him aside, he glowed bright white upon impact, and the spell vanished as it touched the blade.

 

“…Do you know anything more powerful?”

 

Louise scowled, “Nothing that wouldn’t catch that things attention.”

 

Derflinger huffed. He then gasped, “Your explosions!” he exclaimed.

 

Louise narrowed her eyes, only to widen them as she followed his thought-process.

 

“What?” Siesta asked, confused.

 

“Louise’s explosions are an overload of magical energy,” Derflinger answered.

 

Siesta seemed confused for another moment. And then, clarity. “Oooh! You think that’ll work?”

 

Louise shrugged, “It’s worth a shot.” She then began the task of purposefully failing a spell (a notion which, months ago, would have been laughable at best). “ _Fireball_ ,” she intoned, aiming her wand at Derflinger. There was a brief expanse of light—the tell-tale sign of one of her explosions—but, just like the wind spell, it was quickly sucked into Derflinger’s blade.

 

“Woo!” the blade exclaimed, vibrating in place as he glowed pure, blindingly white as he absorbed the spell. “That’s a rush!” The young mage nodded resolutely, sheathing her wand and reaching for Derflinger. “Er, no. Not you Louise.”

 

A pause. She narrowed her eyes, “Why not?”

 

“Low upper body strength and lack of strong footing,” Derflinger bluntly replied. Before Louise could get offended, he added, “Siesta, though…”

 

“Me?” The young Commoner quickly shook her hands in front of her, “I don’t—“

 

“I’ve seen you swing an axe, sweetie. You aren’t fooling anyone.”

 

“But—”

**“GRRRAAGGGHHH!”**

 

The three returned their attention to the battle before them. The dragon was flailing its arms wildly now, blindly shooting fire from its maw. Johan was quickly making distance, occasionally hurling himself to the side to avoid a fireball. Yet, the beast was slowly making its way towards him.

 

Siesta gulped, setting her face into a determined frown. “What should I do?”

 

“Grab me, for one,” Derflinger said with a nervous chuckle.

 

Siesta slowly rose to her feet. But before she could grab him, Louise found herself reaching out to grasp Siesta’s hands. She gulped, giving them a tight squeeze and taking a moment to gather her thoughts into words. “Be careful,” she eventually pleaded.

 

Siesta smiled softly, but it was Derflinger who answered, “Don’t worry, she won’t be moving even five feet away. Speaking of, just get out from behind this rock.”

 

Siesta did so.

 

“Great, great. A little to the left. Perfect! Now, hold me over your head. Both hands!” Siesta adjusted her grip, fidgeting. “Spread your feet wider. Too wide. There, perfect. Now, what’s your leading foot?”

 

“My what?”

 

A groan, “Are you right-handed, or left-handed?”

 

“Oh. Uh, either, I suppose.”

 

“Let’s stick with the right, then,” Derflinger decided. “Okay, on the count of three, I want you to wake a step forward with your right foot and swing me down with all your might.”

 

Siesta nodded jerkily, breath coming out in short gasps.

 

Louise pursed her lips. “Siesta,” she called out. Her friend turned, and Louise stared calmly into her eyes, “Relax. You’ve got this.” She smiled nervously, but some of the tension did leave her body.

 

“On three, okay?” Siesta nodded, a bit more confidently. “Alright. One,” Derflinger’s blade started to glow white, “Two,” the condensed energy grew brighter, “Three!”

 

Siesta stomped forward, loosing a shrill, nervous yell, and swung Derflinger down. A massive wave of blinging white energy shot forward, zooming for the dragon and lighting up the cave. The beast reactively raised its arms to guard its head, and was enveloped in the wave of energy, roaring in agony before abruptly cutting off.

 

A loud _THUD_ echoed throughout the cavern.

 

“Is it dead?” Siesta breathed.

 

**“GRRAGH**!”

 

Louise paled, and she could idly hear Derflinger curse.

 

The dragon was not, unfortunately dead. The dull thud wasn’t, as they’d hoped, the sound of its head falling to the ground, but its left forearm. That wasn’t the only damage done to it; its horns were cracked and broken, the gash on its wounded eye had grown large, it was bleeding profusely, and half of its snout had disappeared into a bloody lump.

 

Yet it still lived. Worse, its attention was focused on _them_.

 

“Louise!” Derflinger shouted, “Hit me with another spell!”

 

Before she could do so, however, Master Johan leapt into action.

 

He slid to a stop just in front of the monster. “ ** _GAAN LAH HAAS_**!” he roared. Purple energy burst forward from his body—his mouth, specifically—washing over the beast. It keened lowly, stilling before dropping to its knees, dipping its head low. Quick as a flash, he rushed forward, drawing the axes strapped to his hips. He slammed both axes on either end of its jaw, prying it open. He drew his head back, and shouted, “ ** _YOL TOOR SHUUUUL!”_** A massive gout of orange flame spewed forth from his mouth, traveling down the beast’s throat.

 

The monster was unable to scream, but it did weakly struggle as its chest rapidly expanded. To no avail, as it soon burst open, fire and charred flesh exploding outward. Then, finally, it stopped.

 

Johan pulled his weapons free, letting the corpse fall to the ground. He then slammed both axes deep into its skull for good measure.

 

He placed his axes back on his hips, posture slackening slightly. Flicking both wrists outward, he summoned a portal to Oblivion. A very large portal, easily twice as big as the dead monster. “Clean this up,” he said into it.

 

His personal demon stepped out from the portal. It eyed the corpse with interest. “My, my,” it said with its slimy smile, “is that a Titan?”

 

“Yes. Heaven knows why it’s here.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Its smile faded as it saw the burning cavity in its chest. It groaned, “Did you have to blow it to bits?”

 

“Just clean,” Master Johan commanded, turning around and heading towards the three of them. He flicked his left wrist, and an oak brown chest appeared in a flash of blue, floating in the air to keep pace with him. He placed his weapons within it and reached the three of them by the time he took off his helmet. Louise flinched when the removal revealed a stern glare, his mouth settled into a deep frown. It reminded her of her mother, and the comparison terrified her.

 

But, instead of her mother’s barely disguised rage, Master Johan kept his voice calm and neutral as he slowly removed the rest of his armor. “I can assume I have you three to thank for the energy wave.”

 

“Yup,” Derflinger cheerily replied—Louise noted that Siesta held his hilt close to her chest in a white-knuckle grip. “Real team effort.”

 

He ran his gaze critically up-and-down Siesta. “…No doubt.”

 

“Can’t forget about Louise!” The young noble panicked, but it was too late to try and hide behind a rock. “She gave me the energy after all.”

 

“Gave you?” Master Johan calmly repeated.

 

“Yup. Turns out, I can absorb magic and turn it into sword beams!”

 

That got a reaction. The elder mages eyes widened, a curious gleam shining through, “Really?”

 

“Hmm-hmm. Her explosions give the most, though.”

 

“Interesting,” he turned his gaze to her, and Louise did her best not to flinch as his curious gleam disappeared behind steel. He arched a brow, and Louise gulped as she did her best to formulate an answer.

 

She opened her mouth. “I-I-I-I—”

 

“Breath, Louise,” her master calmly instructed.

 

She did so. “I…I wanted to see if I could help. It didn’t feel right to just…leave you alone.”

 

He stopped fiddling with his chest piece—the last bit of his armor still on his body—to stare at her. Louise fidgeted a bit but met his gaze. He then sighed, “At least you didn’t try and butt right in the middle of the battle.”

 

“People do that?” she couldn’t help blurting out.

 

“Stupid people that are eager to die, yes,” he said with a short, grim chuckle.

 

Louise laughed nervously in turn. Then, Siesta gasped loudly, “Nana!” Louise gasped as well, cursing the fact that she’d forgotten about that.

 

“Hmm? What about Juliet?” Master Johan asked, turning to the young girl.

 

“She had a heart-attack!”

 

Johan froze. He then blurred into action, tearing off the rest of his armor. “What?! Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?!”

 

“She’s fine!” He froze once more, sternly staring at Siesta. The girl elaborated, “I mean, she still had a heart-attack and all, but Louise helped her.”

 

The young mage blushed as her Master stared at her appreciatively. “You did?”

 

A brief nod. “I didn’t do much, really. Derflinger was of greater assistance.”

 

“Oh, don’t me modest,” Derflinger replied jovialy.

 

Master Johan smirked, eyeing the blade, “…He’s a sword.”

 

Her blush deepened, “You know what I mean!”

 

**Line Break**

 

Moving Juliet proved to be an easier task than Louise originally assumed. After Johan checked her over briefly, dispelling the water spell in the process, he conjured a cot and summoned Arniel and Lucien. The latter grumbled something about ‘subverting the natural course of life and death’ but nonetheless assisted Arniel in carrying the elderly woman back to the farm. From there, the most difficult thing was keeping everyone out of her room.

 

“The only reason I’m not currently shouting all of you down,” Master Johan harshly whispered through gritted teeth, “is because the last thing Juliet needs is another fright!” He sighed, pinching his nose, “I can appreciate your concern, but I cannot heal her, cannot help her get _better_ , if I have to squeeze past a dozen bodies to get to her!”

 

The children all guilty (or fearfully) looked away. But the adults, especially Juliet’s own children, glared defiantly.

 

Johan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said with a sigh, “no more than five at a time, alright?” There were nods all around, and everyone quickly gathered together to split into groups. “Oh, and Marcus,” he said, reaching out to grab the man’s arm.”

 

“Yes?” the man replied.

 

“Did your grandfather keep any journals?” At the farmer’s questioning stare, he continued, “Maybe you’ve forgotten about the corpse that I killed?”

 

Marcus paled, and he quickly nodded. “Grandpa kept a few journals. I’ll bring them up to the barn.”

 

“Actually, I’ll be staying with your mother. I was serious when I said I need to keep an eye on her.” Marcus grunted, and then went on to converse with him family. After that, Johan sighed, moving a little down the hall, towards the table Louise was sitting at.

 

A sigh, “You did good back there, have I told you that?”

 

Louise blinked. “What?”

 

“Healing Juliet. You did good.”

 

Louise blushed lightly, “I already told you—”

 

“Oh, come on little lady!” Derflinger said from his place, propped against the table, “We’ve been over this; equal parts!” Her blush intensified.

 

“Besides,” Johan said with a light laugh, “you’re first instinct to cover her in the water spell, though erroneous, was a decent one.” He smiled softly, “I’m proud of you, Louise.”

 

Now, Louise was blushing for an entirely different reason. She dipped her head down, clearing her throat, “A-Alright,” she stammered, “I’ll let the matter lie, if it means that much to you.”

 

“Thank you.” Louise giggled at his wide smile. That smile then dipped into a frown, “Also, don’t go back to the barn for sleep. Find a space here.” At her inquisitive grunt, he said, “Want to keep everyone close tonight.”

 

“Is it because that dragon was a Daedra?” She smirked as his eyebrows shot up into his hair. “It did keep on screaming ‘Aedra’.”

 

“It did do that, didn’t it?” Johan said with a grim chuckle. He then sobered, “But it’s not so much that it’s a Daedra, so much as which of the _Princes_ it might work under.”

 

Louise’s mouth ran dry at the mention of the demon-gods of his people. “W-Which Princes might they be?”

 

A sigh, “Well, any of them, really. But the worst would probably be their original master. The Prince of R—Domination,” he said with a slight stumble, “Molag Bal.”

 

“Molag Bal?” Derflinger repeated.

 

“One of the more clearly bad Princes of the bunch,” Johan said with a flippant wave.

 

Louise’s face scrunched up in confusion, “I thought you said they were all evil?”

 

“No, I said they’re all tyrants and despots. Some may be more,” he frowned, stroking his beard “…inclined to help than others, but they are all powerful beings that are used to getting what they want. To say nothing of the fact that what they consider to be ‘helpful’ may not actually be so.”

 

“How do you mean?” Louise asked, genuinely curious.

 

“Oh, there’re dozens of stories involving the Princes and their dealings with mortals. I can give you a few collections of tales.”

 

“Maybe later,” though this time, Louise was seriously considering it. “But maybe you can clarify something.” She leaned forward slightly, “Why did it wake up? Now, of all times.”

 

Johan’s gaze darkened, “…I have some theories.”

 

“And,” Louise continued, “ _why_ was it screaming ‘Aedra’? I mean, yes, by your descriptions they would be natural enemies, but it wasn’t on like one of them was actually nearby.”

 

“…”

 

“Master?”

 

He looked tired, then. Tired and weary. “In the morning, Louise,” he said with a deep sigh, “after I’ve had a chance to read through Rowley’s journals.” He abruptly stood, “I’m going to check on Arniel and Lucien. After that, I’ll be keeping watch over Juliet. I’ll be there should you have further need of me.” And without another word, he left.

 

“…Cryptic.”

 

Louise rolled her eyes, “A very astute observation, Derflinger.”

 

“I try.”

 

Louise rolled her eyes, grabbing him as she too stood. She looked over at the large gathering outside Juliet’s door, pleased to see Siesta exit the room as a different group moved in. She waited a bit, and then moved closer when Siesta was alone—well, as alone as one could be in a house with so many family members hovering near a single door.

 

She gently tapped her friends shoulder to get her attention, only to realize that she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. In truth, she couldn’t think of any particular reason why she wanted to be near Siesta other than, well, she just wanted to be near her. Thus, she was left with her mouth hanging open, staring blankly at her friend.

 

Siesta, bless her, leaned down with a worried frown. “Louise,” she said, gently placing her hand on the mage’s shoulder, “are you alright?”

 

That shook Louise form her mental stall. “Er, yes, yes!” She pulled back, coughing into her hand, “Just thinking about the, uh, day’s events.”

 

Siesta shivered, rubbing her elbows “No doubt. If Johan hadn’t shown up when he did I…we…”

 

Louise nodded solemnly, “I know.”

 

“But,” Siesta smiled, “it did feel good to cut that things arm off.”

 

“I was aiming for the head,” Derflinger piped up.

 

“ _You_ aimed?” Louise asked, bringing him up between them.

 

“Well, directed Siesta, yes. Who, by the way, has an _amazing_ downward swing!” he gushed.

 

Siesta blushed, playfully waving her hand, “Oh, stop it!”

 

“I’m serious! With some proper training, you could have the strongest sword-arm in the country. Hell, the continent!”

 

“Really, stop.” Siesta smiled sadly, “Fun as the thought is, it’s not like I’d be able to do it, anyway.”

 

Louise frowned at her friend’s words. No doubt, learning how to wield a sword would be far more enjoyable than farm work; especially if she had the talent Derflinger seemed to think she did. If only she could find an instructor. A proper one; if someone as pretty as Siesta were to publicly express an interest in swordsmanship no doubt a veritable maelstrom of lechers would jump at the chance to ‘teach’ her. She wasn’t entirely sure why that line of thought made her blood boil.

 

Maybe she herself could help out on that front? But Louise quickly discounted such notions. Even if she did find someone, she wasn’t dumb enough to think they’d consider teaching her friend. No mage would stoop so low. None but one, at least.

 

Louise blinked, bemused that the thought was only just occurring to her. _Johan_ was a skilled warrior. And he was most certainly not a snob. Maybe, once her own studies were done, she could ask him to take Siesta under his wing?

 

**Line Break**

 

Johan sighed as he sat back, cancelling the healing spell he cast on Juliet. She’d live, in no small part thanks to Louise and Derflinger’s actions. But it was the Daedric Titan that worried him the most. Though powerful creatures, they were rarely seen outside of Oblivion itself. And for one to have spent the better part of a century in some sort of hibernation, but he’d never come across any such thing. Thankfully, its body didn’t disappear to Oblivion, but no doubt its soul returned to its birth dimension. Now, Johan wasn’t an authority on the life-cycle of Daedra, but he did know that the more powerful ones were able to retain their memories. If it got to talking with anyone…

 

His hands curled into fists, but he forced himself to remain calm. Whatever would come to pass, he could deal with it. But, he turned towards Juliet’s sleeping form, she and her family could not. However, he was no greenhorn; he had ways of keeping them safe. But that could all wait until the morning, at least.

 

His next thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Marcus peeked his head through. “How is she?” he asked worriedly.

 

Johan gestured to the convalescent woman, “Well enough. Her heartrate’s normal, as is her breathing. But still, I’m going to keep an eye on her all night.”

 

“Oh,” the man fully entered the room, “You don’t—”

 

“I insist,” Johan cut him off. He then saw the box in his hands. “Are those Rowley’s journals?”

 

A nod. “Sorry it took me so long to get them to you.”

 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Johan said as he accepted the box.

 

“I actually found the box pretty quickly, but all that was in there were his old business ledgers.”

 

Johan grunted, opening the box, “I’m going to assume you didn’t spend the last couple hours twiddling your thumbs.”

 

The farmer chuckled, “No. I was trying to find his personal journals. Which I did.”

 

“Yes, I can see that,” Johan said, pulling out a couple small, leather-bound books. He opened the first one, and sucked in a breath, “These are—”

 

“The same letters on the gravestones. Yeah.” Marcus crossed his arms, “You said you knew what they were?”

 

“Hmm? Ah, yes,” Johan waved his arm, “But, uh, it’s a long story and, frankly, I’d like to get your grandfather’s facts straight before I say anything else.”

 

“Fair enough. And,” the man gulped, “Thank you, again, for…re-killing the dragon.” He laughed grimly, “Guess now we know why he wanted to keep us away from it.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Johan said, looking for the earliest journal. “Good night, Marcus.” Johan barely noticed the door closing, focusing on the first page of the oldest journal. It read:

 

‘Fredas, sixth day (I think) of Morning Star, 2E 585.

My name is Rowley Steel-Grip. I was born to Ragnar and Ilsa of Ivarstead. During a mission to root out the last of Molag Bal’s grip on Tamriel following his failed invasion, I and my companions, Niravel, Gerard, and Dinah entered a cave outside of Bruma, said to be home of a handful of daedra worshippers.  We arrived and made quick work of the majority of them. But the last few—before Gerard turned them into pincushions—managed to open a portal to Oblivion, summoning a Daedric Titan. Even now, I don’t know the specifics, but they used a soul gem to open the portal. Niravel thought—hoped, I can still see the fear in her eyes—that breaking the crystal would send it back.

 

She was wrong.

 

Breaking the crystal made some strange portal open up, sucking up not only the Titan, but us as well, knocking me out in the process. When next I awoke, I was in a different cave, the bodies of my friends and the Titan around me.’

 

Johan reared back, stunned. He then collected himself and started to read once more.

 

**A/N: Standard procedure for a heart attack is to call for an ambulance, take a nitroglycerin pill (or an aspirin), perform CPR on the person, and maybe use a defibrillator if you have one, are trained to use it, and are desperate. _The More You Know~~_. As always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

History

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

‘Tirdas, thirteenth day of Morning Star, 2E 585

(or according to these people: Monday, ninth day of July, A.F. 6004…Shor’s bones that’s a long time)

         I had to abandon my attempts at giving my friends proper burials—that is to say, I managed to bury them all—Dinah would hate the way I used her shield as a shovel—but I wasn’t able to make any headstones or other type of marker. But I was low on food and water, to say nothing of the fact that I had no idea where I was. To say nothing of the fact that at least three of my ribs were bruised, if not broken. No, I needed to move.

         But as soon as I left the cave, I wished I hadn’t.

         It’s…it’s the night sky. It is not Tamriel’s sky. The moons are the wrong color, pink and blue instead of red and white. The sky is so bland, no colors dance across it, between the stars. To say nothing of the stars themselves. The lone eye of The Ritual should be up there, staring down at me. Instead, I see a jumbled mess of white lights. No familiarity in their shapes.’

 

Johan leaned back, ruminating on Rowley’s words. He hadn’t really considered that. As his birth sign was The Serpent—who’s path through the night sky was erratic and unpredictable—he never really cared to truly memorize the constellations. But, looking back on it, he couldn’t recall seeing any of Tamriel’s thirteen constellations in Halkegnia’s stars.

 

He then banished such thoughts, returning to the journal:

 

‘I wandered through some woods for a couple hours, making sure to mark my path so I could later return and give Dinah, Niravel, and Gerard proper burials. My muscles ached and protested my every step, but I couldn’t allow myself to rest until I’d found some sort of settlement.

         Ended up passing out before such a point.

         Thankfully, a family of farmers found me; Mathew, his wife Sadie, and their daughter, Laura. I don’t think Sadie likes me; keeps on giving me the stink-eye, and she never leaves me alone with her daughter. A fair worry; Laura is a beautiful woman, with warm green eyes, silky brown hair, and a wonderfully melodious voice, when she chooses to speak.

         …Anyway, after giving me food and drink, Matthew started to question me about what I’d been doing in the woods. I did my best to be vague—didn’t want to worry him over the fact that a magic portal had opened up within a hundred miles of his home, people tend to react poorly to that—but then he grabbed me by the shoulders and yelled, ‘Dammit man, has the war come here or not?’ So, I told him that I’m not fighting in this land’s war, but that me and my companions were tasked with killing a monster that was nearby. He grew relieved at that, until my words sunk in. Then he turned white as a sheet. I almost laughed at his vacant expression, but in the end, I decided to tell him that we slayed it. I’d hoped to keep my voice neutral, but I must have given something away, because he just nodded solemnly and left me alone.

         …Gods, I’m going to miss those three.’

 

The next entry wasn’t until a few days later:

 

‘Loredas, seventeeth day of Morning Star, 2E 585

(Friday, thirteenth day of July, A.F. 6004)

         I’ve discovered something...amazing and frightening about this strange new land. They have never heard of Daedra—or the Aedra for that matter. When I let slip that a scar on my left arm was caused by a follower of Boethiah, Mathew tilted his head at me, and said, ‘Haven’t heard a name quite like that before. Supposed to be some lord from Gallia?’ I probed the three of them for some more information and was able to confirm that they knew nothing about any of the Princes or Divines.

         Now, for all their kindness, Mathew, Sadie and Laura don’t seem to be the most…learned people, but still _everyone_ knows of Akatosh, at least. And Molag Bal should be at the forefront of everyone’s mind for the next decade at least. It’s all very bizarre.’

 

The door creaking open pulled Johan from his reading. He looked over his shoulder, cocking a brow as Louise poked her pink-haired head through. “Yes?” he called softly.

 

“Good, you’re up.” She slipped in, closing the door. His student stared at Juliet’s sleeping form, frowning. “How is she?”

 

“Fine. Resting, as she should be.” Johan turned around, pushing the journal aside slightly. “You need something?”

 

She nodded. “I’d like some books on healing magic.”

 

“Heart treatments?” he said with a lazy smirk.

 

“Yes. Specifically spells on using lightning magic to…fix it?” she finished hesitantly.

 

“Ah, defibrillation.” Johan opened a portal to Oblivion. “Get me medicinal books on treating hearts; for all kinds of magic.” The Dremora grunted but said nothing else.

 

“Defibrillation?” Louise parroted.

 

“It’s the official term for shocking a person’s heart back into order.” He smirked, lightly, “Most people use a scroll, though. Less guesswork” His student grunted questioningly, prompting him to click his tongue, “Ah, right, haven’t gotten to that yet.” He cleared his throat, straightening his posture a touch. “It’s possible to store a spell in a specially enchanted parchment. This would allow anyone to open and use the magic held within.” He gestured in the air, “There’s a bit more nuance to it than that, but that’s all I’m going to get into right now.”

 

Louise nodded. She then frowned, “Wait, what do you mean by ‘anyone’?”

 

He cocked a brow, only to then realize what’d he said. Rather, who and where he’d said it to. Still, he managed to keep up a calm front. “What do you think?”

 

Her face stayed blank for a moment. Then, clarity. “An—!“

 

“Shh!” he hissed softly, “Not so loud.”

 

She snapped her jaw shut. She gulped, “Even Commoners can cast spells with those scrolls?”

 

The Nord rolled his eyes, “‘Anyone’ means _anyone_ , mal lahzey.” Though, in truth, he didn’t really know that. Something about ‘Commoners’ made them wholly unable to perform this world’s brand of magic, so who could say?

 

“But…that’s…” she rubbed her temples, “That could irrevocably change our society! Allow magic to become commonplace! Completely overthrow the hierarchy! W-Why haven’t I ever heard of them before?”

 

Johan considered honestly answering her question. But he decided that he didn’t want to shatter her worldview at the moment, so he said, “Save your questions for the morning.”

 

“But—”

 

“Here’re your books,” the Dremora said, dropping a dozen books onto the desk, closing the portal to Oblivion.

 

“Ah, here you are!” Johan quickly shoved the pile into her hands.

 

She stumbled a bit under the sudden weight but managed to keep her footing. She glared at him over the stack. “…This isn’t over,” she said, and left without another word. At least, she would have, were she able to open the door. Johan’s lips quirked up slightly as he watched her fumble for the handle, trying not to lose her grip on the books. He let her continue for a few seconds, and then got up and opened it for her.

 

She blushed, and he laughed at her half-hearted attempt to keep a scowl off her face. “Thanks,” she mumbled, hurriedly marching down the hall.

 

Johan chuckled, closing the door and returning to the journals.

 

**Line Break**

 

Louise would like to say that she took to the new information like a duck to water. That she was engrossed by simple, yet astounding applications of magical electricity. But she was too hung up on the scrolls Johan mentioned.

 

It didn’t matter how far into Germania his home was, such a development _would_ be known. If not to the public, then at least to people like her (or her parents, at least); hell, students in the Academy would bend over backwards for an easy way to cheat (Louise would like to say that she’d be above such methods were they available while she was a student, but in all honesty the temptation would have been too great).

 

To say nothing of Commoners. A chance to, even if momentary, stand equal to their Noble lords? Founder above, the ways in which they could utterly shatter the status quo! Literally create some spare gold, or iron or steel. Accelerate and cheapen the healing process. Better protect themselves on their travels. Build structures and clear out forests for towns…wait, were those bad things?

 

Rebellion! Rebellion was definitely a bad thing! It would be easy for Commoner’s to amass a large number of scrolls and use them to battle Nobles. Only… such scrolls could only be created by a mage, and thus only be distributed by mages. So, the moment the process behind making them became widely known, Nobles would _heavily_ manage their production and distribution.

 

Louise smiled to herself, chuckling lightly. What was she so worked up about? There’d be no way for such items to become widespread. Of course, some would slip through the cracks, but for the most part Commoners would just live on as they always did…well, that wasn’t good either, was it? Siesta’s family, for example, was large, but they could surely use an extra bit of help when it came time to collect crops—especially with their positively _humungous_ fields. But a family as large as Siesta’s could easily hoard such scrolls to attack the local Nobility—not that her family would even think of such a thing. Unless they were like Count Mott, in which case the extra protection would be greatly warranted. But then—

 

Louise pushed back against the chair, dropping her head in her hands. She wasn’t getting anywhere, wouldn’t get anywhere. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t asked for those books! Then she wouldn’t have found out about those scrolls, and she could sleep soundly instead of staying up and worrying over what might and might not be.

 

She peeked her head up a bit, staring at the books before her. She sighed, deciding to pack up and, at the very least, try to go to bed.

 

Thankfully, Siesta had left her door open. But upon entering, Louise noticed that her friend was staring up at the ceiling, wringing her hands over her chest (Derflinger looked to be sound asleep as he lay against the windowsill). The young girl looked over, plastering a smile on her face, “Finally decided to—that’s a lot of books,” she interrupted herself, sitting up with wide eyes.

 

Louise nodded ruefully. “The price of knowledge,” she said, carefully setting them down on the nightstand. “Why are you still up?” she asked. She had a sinking feeling what the answer was, though.

 

Indeed, Siesta grimaced slightly, turning away, “I keep thinking about the dragon. Obviously, my great-grandfather couldn’t have known that it was still alive, but still, the idea that it could have woken up at any time.” She shivered, “Good thing you and Johan were there, eh?”

 

Louise smiled shakily, “Right.” She considered correcting Siesta on what the beast actually was but decided against it. Ignorance is bliss after all. Instead, she said, “Do you…want to talk about it?”

 

“I guess.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “I just…did he—Rowley—know?” She drew her knees up to her chest, “According to Father, he didn’t like it when people hung around it too long.”

 

“Well,” Louise began, “I don’t think he’d have allowed you to intern your dead in the same cave as it if he knew it was going to wake up one day. Plus, it was responsible for the deaths of his friends. He probably just hated looking at it”

 

“I guess you’re right.” The farmgirl pursed her lips, “Louise, the dragon…did…did you hear it say anything?”

 

The young Noble froze, and she could feel sweat starting to fall down her neck. “Er…maybe,” she internally cringed as her voice cracked, “why? What did you hear?”

 

Siesta’s stare grew deadpan. “…What did it say, Louise?”

 

Louise quickly waved her hands in front of her, “What makes you think I know?!” Her friend cocked a brow, crossing her arms. Louise gulped, “…it said ‘Aedra’,” she quietly admitted.

 

Siesta repeated the word a few times. “What’s it mean?”

 

Louise wrung her hands together, “It’s…the term of the gods of Johan’s people.”

 

“What?” Siesta titled her head confusedly, “Why would a dragon yell about some foreign gods?”

 

Louise pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. “Because it wasn’t a dragon.” Before Siesta could reply, she leaned forward, staring deep into her friend’s eyes. “Look, I’ll tell you everything I know, but you can’t repeat it to anyone, alright? Not until we talk to Master Johan in the morning.”

 

Siesta nodded after a moment’s hesitation. Thus, Louise told all she knew.

 

**Line Break**

 

‘Tirdas, third day of Sun’s Dawn, 2E 585

(Friday, sixth day of August, A.F. 6004)

         I hate the mages of this world. By necessity, I hate to aristocrats of this world (for some reason, the two are one-and-the-same). It took a few weeks, but I managed to make it to their local college, the Academy of Magic of Tristain. Didn’t even make it past the front gate before I was stopped by a nearby instructor. She told me that the students weren’t due for another couple weeks, and they weren’t accepting sent ahead luggage. I informed her that I wasn’t interested in learning magic, I just wanted to ask some people some questions. She looked at me as though I’d suddenly sprouted a second head. She then laughed, muttering something about ‘daft Commoners.’

         I was half-tempted to knock her teeth in and head inside, but then another instructor came upon us. That man ended up being the school’s headmaster, Mr. H (his full name is something like five names combined, I’m not wasting the ink). He chided the woman, saying that they owe it to the country to assist soldiers in the war effort—I almost said that I wasn’t in their army, but wisely decided to keep my mouth shut. (I did question why he assumed I was part of their army, but I later found out that the Academy is deep in one factions’ territory, and a man such as myself, strutting around in full armor, couldn’t possibly be with the other side. A stupid assumption, but one that worked in my favor.)

         I told Mr. H that I was sent to the Academy to ask about teleportation magic. He chuckled lightly and said that I was sent on a wild goose chase. I pleaded with him, telling him that, at the very least, Conjuration magic opens a temporary pathway between our world and another. He stared blankly at me, and told me to get my facts checked, because there was no such thing as ‘Conjuration’ magic. He then sent me on my way with a wish of good luck on the war effort. I wanted to question him further, but he ‘subtly’ brandished his wand. I didn’t feel like getting blood on my hands, so I left.

         It wasn’t until I’d entered the nearest town that it really sunk in. I’m stuck here. Unless one of the Divines (or this world’s equivalent) take mercy upon me, I will never step foot in Tamriel again. Never swim over to Geirmund’s Hall and watch the Steed gallop across the summer sky. Never see my mother and sister again. Never send my friends’ bones home. Never be buried alongside my ancestors.’

 

The next few entries were scribbled, tear-stained messes. Johan skipped ahead until finding a legible entry.

        

‘Fredas, fourteenth day of Sun’s Dawn, 2E 585

(Monday, seventeenth day of August, A.F. 6004)

         A man in armor emblazoned with the country’s regalia approached me today. Said he was looking for able-bodied men to fight in the war. In all my time here, I still didn’t know why these people were fighting, so I asked. He looked at me funny, but told me nevertheless.

         It’s a fucking border dispute. I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Of all the stupid things for people to fight over.

         The soldier got all uppity, started calling me names and threatening to detain me. I got tired of his voice, so I rammed my fist into his head and left him in a heap.

         One thing’s for sure though, I’m not picking up my sword for something as petty as land. Sure, when I was a boy, I wanted to pick up a weapon and fight in any conflict I could get my hands on (like any sensible Nord). But Molag Bal’s invasion…it put things in perspective. No, I won’t fight for such a worthless cause.

But it does make me wonder, what next? I’d work as a mercenary, but most of the jobs would probably lead back to this stupid war. And, aside from the war, the lands seem pretty safe; in my travels, I’d only run across one bear, and it just stared at me before lumbering away. There were no bandits prowling the roads, no skeevers overrunning cellars, no dead rising from their crypts and accosting the living.

…Matthew offered me a job. Harvests were coming up soon, and he said he could use the extra hands. I never did say ‘no’.’

 

A pained groan tore Johan away from the journal. He quickly made his way to Juliet. Her eyes snapped open, darting about wildly, fearfully. “Juliet,” she rapidly shifter her gaze towards him, “calm down. You had a heart-attack. You were treated, and we’ve brought you home.”

 

She wheezed slightly. “Water,” she rasped. Johan obliged, carefully tilting a glass for her to drink. “Thank you.” She slowly shifted her gaze around the room. “What happened?”

 

Johan recounted the day’s events following her heart-attack. When he finished, she smiled mirthlessly, “Now I know why Papa didn’t want us near it.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think he suspected it was still alive,” Johan mumbled into his beard.

 

The elderly woman hummed, narrowing her eyes at the books on the table. “Those are his journals.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You can read them?”

 

“He uses an older style of writing than I’m used to, but I manage.”

 

She turned her suspicious gaze towards him. “You’re not from Germania, are you?” The mage smirked, shaking his head. “Same with Papa, I take it?” A nod. “Well, I’m sure it’s a very fascinating story, but I think I’ll wait to hear it in the morning.”

 

“A wise decision,” Johan said with a chuckle. He then set about checking her vitals. She hummed amusedly when he lit her body up with magic, but quickly nodded off once more.

 

After spending a few more minutes checking on her, Johan returned to the journals.

 

Following Rowley’s return to Tarbes, there were large gaps between entries. He’d taken to only noting down important things. Mostly to do with Laura. A lot to do with Laura. Johan thought Rowley had been smart, writing his journals with Nordic runes; wouldn’t have been fun for his children to read what he’d written about their mother. Man missed his calling as a bard, that’s for sure.

 

But the next interesting passage wasn’t until his eldest child—Mitchell, who Johan would have to ask about later—was five.

 

‘Tuesday, twelfth of March, A.F. 6011,

         Laura and I can no longer ignore it. Mitchell is stronger than the other children. Ideally, I’d be able to say this with pride, but I cannot, not under these circumstances. It’s…scant hours ago, he was playing with some of the children down in the village. I was taking some crops to the market and let him roam. Then, a booming crash. Evidently, the children thought it a grand idea to play in the church, which was undergoing renovation. Heavy, renovation (lightning struck it a month ago, burning the majority the roof and structure).

         I…my heart just about tore in two at the thought of... I shoved past everyone else, tossing aside rubble, screaming for Mitchell until my muscles burned, and my voice grew hoarse. Then, a miracle. Voices from beneath the debris. With renewed vigor, I dug again. And then, some of the rubble—a bit of a wall—lifted on its own. It rose, higher and higher, revealing the children—some bloodied, but all breathing. And there was Mitchell, his palms pressed flat against the wall, his little arms quivering under the weight. We stared at each other, for a moment, before I regained my senses, and hurled the wall away from them.

         By then, the local Alchemist and Healer had come around and started to check on everyone. Luckily, they decided to check-on Mitchell first, and after giving out some salve for his scraped skin, we all but ran home.

         Before we actually got home, though, I stopped by the barn to move around some haybales—in part to distract Mitchell from his near-death experience, to further test his strength, and also because I actually needed to do it. He couldn’t physically lift the things—mostly because he was too small for such a task—but he was able to effortlessly push—or roll, as he was fond of doing—them along the ground.

         Laura was, understandably, wrought when she found out what had happened, and more than a little annoyed that I didn’t immediately come home. Until I told her about Mitchell, at least. She accepted his unnatural strength better than I expected. Of course, that may have to do with the fact that she was the one to bring it up in the first place. (Which reminds me, I still need to pick up a new rake).

         I pray that our son’s strength it merely some…quirk of the union of mine and Laura’s blood. Some side-effect in part of my true origins. Not because Mitchell is special in the eyes of the Divines—mine or these. I couldn’t bear it.

         As I write this, Juliet lays swaddled in her crib, breathing softly as the candlelight dances across her face. I suppose I will just have to wait and see if she has a strength similar to her brother…I pray that is the case.’

 

Johan pushed the journal aside, humming in thought. Every descendent of Rowley’s seemed to have some degree of unnatural strength, so he was right on that account. But why? Nords—Rowley never came out and said he was one, but all the evidence pointed to it—are certainly a hardy people, but they were hardly the physically strongest race—Orcs blew everyone else out of the water.

 

He decided to finish reading the rest of the journals before further ruminating on the conundrum.

 

The next relevant entry wasn’t until a few years later.

 

‘Wednesday, ninth of March, A.F. 6015,

         Juliet has the same strength as her brother.’

 

Rowley grew more concise with age.

 

Until his last entry, at least.

 

‘Sunday, fifth of December, A.F. 6055,

         I’m dying. Everyone’s doing their best to deny it, but my time has come. I’m just thankful that Mitchell and his wife—well, honestly, I could do without her—and their children have returned to the farm one last time before my passing.

         I find myself thinking on a conversation I had with my father before his death. ‘Don’t be like me son,’ he said, ‘lying in bed, dying of a damned fever. When you feel your time coming to an end, take up your arms, go out into the world, and die a defiant death, so that you may find entry to Sovngarde! If you’re lucky, you may end up in the Hall of Valor, to eat, drink, and be merry with the heroes of old!’ But I don’t want Sovngarde. I don’t want to get drunk with ancient heroes. I want to be with Laura again. To be able to welcome our children and grandchildren, and all our descendants into the afterlife with open arms and warm smiles.

         But it will do no good to fret over my fate. The Divines have taken care of me thus far, they shall see me through to the end.’

 

Johan carefully shut the journal, offering a short—if heavily belated—prayer for Rowley’s soul. He hoped the man got his wish. Still, now he had the answer to several questions. Of course, there was still the matter of how everyone would react to those answers.

 

**A/N: Almost out of Tarbes. Just, like, one more chapter. In other news, a very kind reviewer informed me that I’ve mistranslated a word. For sixteen chapters. …I have no words (If I did, they’d probably be wrong). Also, I spent way too much trying to figure out how the calendar works. Like, hours. Anyway, quick question for you all; how’d you find this story? And, as always, be sure to leave a review. Later.**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

Impromptu Lessons

**The Elder Scrolls Series is property of Bethesda. Familiar of Zero is (currently) property of Media Factory (I believe)**

"Talking"

" _Thoughts"_

" **Powerful (Dragon/Daedra/etc.) speech"**

**“ _DOVAHZUL”_**

**Line Break**

 

Johan jerked awake at the series of rapid knocks tore him from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes, ignoring the door to check on Juliet. He hummed lightly upon seeing that she was alright.

 

The knocking grew more fervent.

 

With a quicker step, Johan made his way to the door, revealing Marcus and a handful of his other kin. The group visibly relaxed upon seeing the Nord’s calm visage. He opened the door wider. “She’s still asleep,” he said quietly, “So do be careful.” He then stepped aside, allowing them to pour in.

 

“Heh-Hem,” someone coughed.

 

The Nord turned, cocking a brow at Louise and Siesta; at the nervous expressions marring their young faces. He sighed, “…What have you told her, Louise?”

 

The young mage gulped softly, “I may have told her a bit about your…religious beliefs.”

 

He immediately held his hand up, “Please, save all questions until after Juliet is awake.”

 

“Bu—”

 

“She deserves to hear it too,” he cut her off gently.

 

Siesta hummed sadly, and Louise bent her head down, unable to form a retort.

 

“Um…Johan!” Someone cried out.

 

The man in question perked up a bit. He winked mischievously at the two young women, “Well, looks like you may get your answers sooner than you think!” He turned around, gently pushing past the crowd. Marcus and Margot were fretting over Juliet, who was quick to shoo them away as she sat up.

 

The Nord was quick to check her over. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he took her pulse.

 

“Rested,” she replied.

 

“Mentally?” He summoned a small ball of light in his hand, waving it in front of her eyes. Several people gasped behind him, but Juliet herself merely flinched.

 

“A little annoyed, to be frank,” she said with a wheezing laugh.

 

 “This is just to make sure your brain’s alright,” Johan said, moving it to the other eye.

 

“What’s a brain?” a child quickly asked before an adult could shush them.

 

“It’s the organ inside your head that allows you to move and think.” The child ‘ahhd’ lightly, falling silent. He finished his examination, handing her a cup of water, “Well, everything seems to be in order. Hungry?”

 

“Starving, actually.” More than a few people started to stomp away, no doubt to prepare meals for everyone.

 

“Wait!” Johan called out. He rose from the bed, grabbing a book from the table. ‘ _Recuperation: Heart Attacks_ ’ it read. Part of a series of medical treatments written by, of all races, an Argonian named Swims-Too-Deep sometime in the late third era. He opened the book, flipping through it. “Let’s see…ah!” He ran his finger along the page as he read aloud. “For the next month, at least, the patient should have a mainly vegetable and fruit diet. They can have solids, but stews are preferable. Also, make sure the patient avoids salt, sugar, and cuts back on meat—pork especially, but don’t give them anything with too much fat or grease. Chicken is fine, so long as it doesn’t have skin. Patient may eat fish and eggs in small servings.” He stopped himself there, because the rest of the passage detailed Alchemical ingredients that, though helpful, did not exist in this world.

 

“I’m sorry,” Margot said with a brief chuckle, “Are you saying that we need to peel off chicken skin?” Johan nodded slightly, “But that’s such a waste!”

 

“I’m more concerned about the salt thing,” Juliet mumbled.

 

Johan grimaced, “Yes, that doesn’t sound pleasant.” He flipped through a couple more pages, “Thankfully, there’s a number of recipes here for you to follow.”  Unfortunately, a number of those recipes required Alchemy ingredients that did not exist in this world…but, upon thinking on it, he had a solution to that problem. Later, though.

 

He closed the book with an audible _SNAP_ , causing several people to flinch, “Tell you what, I’ll help you make the first meal. And after that…I think the younger children could do with some playtime. Alleviate a bit of the sour mood from the last couple days,” he said this with a cocked brow.

 

The adults—and a few of the older children—in the room caught on quickly enough and hurriedly ushered everyone out of the room. Leaving only himself, Juliet, and a ruffled Louise (who was unfortunate enough to be standing by the door during the exodus). The young mage was still, wide-eyed, for a moment, before straightening her clothes, coughing into her hand, and bidding him and Juliet goodbye.

 

Johan turned back to the desk, cleaning up his books. Juliet then asked, “Ready to answer the no doubt hundreds of questions we all have for you?”

 

“Highly doubt it’ll be hundreds,” the Nord said with a light smirk as he closed the portal to Oblivion. “Rather, hundreds similar questions which have the same answers. If I had to guess,” he paused for a second, “there will be twelve unique questions.”

 

“Hm,” Juliet sniffed, “Have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”

 

“It’s one of my many skills,” he said, puffing his chest slightly. They were silent for a moment, before breaking off into short chortles. “Feel up to walking?” he then asked.

 

She sighed, slowly pushing off her blanket, “Might as well.” Johan nodded, striding over to help her, grabbing her cane as he did so.

 

As he helped her onto her feet, he said, “By the way, you seem much more cognizant than the last few days.”

 

“You’ve noticed too?” she said with a toothy smile. “I will admit, a lot of the fog has cleared. Wish I didn’t have to give up salt as a consequence,” she grumbled.

 

He hummed thoughtfully, “Well, you don’t _have_ to follow the treatment plan.” She stared up at him quizzically, “You could easily ignore it and live on as you had. Course, you likely won’t live for too long.”

 

The elderly woman looked down thoughtfully. “…No,” she said, lifting her head up, determined, “No, I won’t do that. The last thing we need right now is to bury me.” She chuckled wheezily, “So much has happened in so little time, I’m afraid people might start cracking under the weight.”

 

“Sound logic,” Johan replied with a smile.

 

**Line Break**

 

The food—a vegetable stew made of mostly carrots—specially made for Juliet wasn’t very good. At least, Louise had to assume so, given the way everyone’s face scrunched up when they tasted it. The woman herself didn’t complain, however. Upon her first taste she merely cocked a brow and continued on.

 

Breakfast proved to be a tense affair. The adults alternated between staring worriedly at Juliet—who made of point of staring back—and anxiously at Johan—who cheerfully ignored them as he ate an assortment of fruit. Even the younger children—normally rambunctious and loud—were quiet. The older children, bar Siesta (who knew more than her similarly-aged kin) were just confused.

 

“Yeesh, you’d think someone died,” Derflinger whispered, laying against Johan’s seat.

 

“Someone almost did,” Johan smoothly replied.

 

“…Fair enough. But still—”

 

“Quiet,” Johan suddenly said as multiple sets of eyes started to stare at them. Louise looked out at the crowd, noting that everyone had finished their meals—or at the very least, wasn’t eating anymore.

 

Johan abruptly stood up, “Who wants a new toy?” he exclaimed, staring at the children. Silence. Until one brave soul hesitantly raised her hand. Johan’s smile grew wider, and with a snap of his fingers, opened a portal to Oblivion. Then, he stuck his head and arms through it. Not even Louise was able to hold back the gasp tearing through her throat. She didn’t know a lot about Oblivion, but surely, breathing in whatever passed for air there couldn’t be healthy.

 

Their worries turned out to be for naught, however, when he pulled back, none the worse for wear. In his hands, a wooden dragon. A well-made item, colored with various reds and oranges, a line of triangular spikes along its back, its legs, wings, tail, and head able to move about freely.

 

The girl, Sandy, Louise could recall. Slowly made her way forward, arms hesitantly stretched out. Johan bent down, eagerly giving her the toy. She smiled upon grabbing it, freely bending and moving it in the air. Johan then held a finger up, gently grabbing the dragon and pointing it upward. He forced its jaw open and pressed on a spine in the middle. Suddenly, there was a soft _SPROING_ and a bright red block of wood shot out from its mouth. Sandy gasped in delight, awe-struck as Johan grabbed the projectile, replacing it into the toy’s jaw and handing it back.

 

At that point, the rest of the children rushed forward, either clamoring for the toy, or badgering Johan for their own. The man chuckled, reaching back into the portal, pulling out a chest; no doubt filled with similar items. He gently dropped it into the waiting arms of Seth, who gleefully ran outside, the rest of his kin hot on his heels.

 

Johan cleared his throat, “Someone should watch them, make sure they don’t poke any eyes out.”

 

Marcus stood up then, barking out orders for the rest of the children to follow their younger siblings and cousins. All except Siesta, at least. But if any of them found it odd, they didn’t say or do anything.

 

It was only after the children had left that Johan’s smiling face dipped into a neutral frown. He sat back down with a sigh, clasping his hands in front of him. It was then that Louise could see his age; not, she mused with a short laugh, that she knew how old he actually was. There were a lot of things about him she didn’t know. An alarming number of things, actually. She grimaced; Founder above, had she _really_ just entered into a carriage with some strange old man based on his word that he was an instructor? That’s the kind of thing horror stories were made of. Granted, it all turned out well, terrifically well, but still…

 

“There are two facts and two speculations.” He said, bringing Louise’s attention back to the present. “The facts involve your family history. One speculation relates to the beast that I’ve slain, and the other relates to your family’s…unusual physical prowess.”

 

“Why’re Siesta and Louise here?” Lou suddenly said. He smiled apologetically when the pair looked offended, “Er, nothing against you two, of course. But we sent all the other kids away, and you,” he gestured to Louise, “aren’t family.” Well, she couldn’t fault him for that.

 

“They did help kill that…thing, dear,” his wife, May, said hesitantly.

 

“Actually, they almost got themselves killed in their rush to ‘assist’ me,” the mage smirked somewhat grimly, “but I do appreciate their efforts nonetheless.” His smile faded slightly, and he firmly stated, “They’re staying.” Several people began to fidget in place but said nothing in reply.

 

Marcus cleared his throat, “Er, you said you had some facts?”

 

“Yes.” Johan sighed, leaning forward and propping his chin on his left hand. He waved his right one lazily, “The beast that lay adjacent to your family’s crypt, what you’ve all labelled as the ‘Cairn’ was not, in fact, a dragon.” He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, “It was actually a creature known as a Daedra—specifically, a Daedric Titan. A type of demon.” A deep, heavy silence followed this revelation.

 

“A-A-A-A Demon,” Marcus stuttered fearfully. That broke the dam. Everyone started to clamor over the other. Fear, anger, relief, confusion. All sorts of emotions boiling over and spilling out everywhere.

 

“Siesta,” Louise focused on Jessie, who was staring suspiciously at her daughter, “you don’t look too freaked out over this.” She shifted her gaze over to Louise, “Neither do you.”

 

The din started to quiet as everyone turned to stare at them. The suspicion in their eyes briefly reminded Louise of her classmates back at the Academy. But, these stares were merely curious, lacking the tinge of vicious mocking she was used to.

 

Siesta spoke first, “I asked Louise about the demon last night.”

 

“Yes. I don’t know all that much, but I told her that it was, actually, a demon.”

 

“And why didn’t you mention this to any of us earlier?” Alan asked with a raised brow.

 

“That would be my fault,” Johan said before either she or Siesta could reply. “Didn’t want them to fill your heads with incomplete information.”

 

“Alright,” Alan crossed his arms, “anything else you can tell us about this demon? Like why it wasn’t dead? Why it woke up now of all times?”

 

“Ah, well that leads on to the second fact of the day. And the first speculation.” He cleared his throat, “Now, I’m sure you’re all aware that Rowley was not a native of Tristain.” Everyone nodded. “However, he was not, as some of you have theorized, from Germania either.” Someone, Margot, opened her mouth to speak, but Johan cut her off, “Nor was he from Albion, or Romalia, or Gallia.”

 

“…Another continent, then?” Marcus asked slowly.

 

His reply was a slow shake of the head. “He came from another world—another dimension, if you understand the concept—entirely.”

 

Louise’s eyes widened considerably; a much more subdued reaction compared to the ring of shocked gasps around her. She wanted to just write off his statement as a jest, but she knew better than that. Oblivion existed, after all.

 

Yet, there was something off; not with the revelation, but the way he relayed it. She’d thought that he’d be far more excited about it. His face split in a permanent smile at the knowledge of finding out other worlds with humans both existed and could be travelled to. But he just looked weary; and even that was mostly directed at the people shouting over each other at him.

 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sylvia yelled above the rest. “Not that you haven’t proven trustworthy, Johan, but how can we believe you about this?”

 

“Well, your grandfather admits as much in his journals.” He placed a weathered journal on the table, showing off strange, unreadable letters.

 

Juliet reached forward, pulling the journal close and running a hand gently along it. “For the sake of argument, how do we even know you can read this?” An apt question, Louise thought. She never had an interest in languages, but those letters were like nothing she’d ever seen.

 

“Actually, Ma,” Sylvia spoke up, “he was able to read the gravestones at the Cairn.” The elderly matriarch hummed lightly, eyeing the journal.

 

Johan cleared his throat, “You wed Richard on July 14, 6020.” At Juliet’s widened stare, he added, “You wore your mother’s earrings—silver hoops—and a gold necklace Rowley bought as a wedding gift for you.”

 

All eyes turned to Juliet, who slowly closed the journal. “Alright, you can read it.”

 

Suddenly, it clicked. Louise gasped, abruptly rising from her seat. She pointed grandly at Johan, shouting “You’re from another world as well; the same world as Rowley!” She snapped her fingers, “That’s why I’ve never heard of your type of magic; it literally didn’t exist until you arrived!”

 

Her master smiled brightly, “Very good Louise! What tipped you off?”

 

“The language, actually.” She sat back down, starting intently at her master, “If Rowley were indeed from another world, and you can read the language he writes, then it stands to reason that you have to be from the same world.” She furrowed her brow, turning to Juliet “But, wait, he spoke the Common Tongue, didn’t he? _You_ ,” she turned back to Johan, “speak the Common Tongue.”

 

“Well, the language he wrote his journals in belong to an ancient dialect that is only used by traditionalists. Not to mention the fact that he was born was at least five hundred years before myself.”

 

“What?” Derflinger flatly asked.

 

“Time’s much less linear than we’d like to believe,” Johan said dismissively. He then smirked widely, “But it is odd, isn’t it? That our ‘Common’ languages are the same.” The mage let out short chuckled, “The Divines are…funny, that way.”

 

“Divines?” someone asked.

 

“The gods of my homeland. I suppose they could be considered your gods too,” he said thoughtfully. At the skeptical stares, he added, “Hey, don’t brush them off so easily.” He snorted derisively, “They’re certainly more involved than this land’s god.”

 

“Hey,” Louise said warningly. She should have felt annoyed that no one else was offended, but Commoner’s never really held to the Founder and the Church as fervently as Nobles. Regardless, even in the midst of all this absurdity, she would not idly let him mock her religion.

 

“It’s not a jest,” he said defensively, “By all accounts, the Founder stopped directly interfering with mortal affairs some two-hundred years after his ascension. In Tamriel—the continent myself and Rowley hail from—there are multiple well-documented cases of the Divines personally impacting the mortal plane from the beginning or mortal life to as recently as…thirty years ago.”

 

“Baseless coincidence, you mean?” Louise said with a slight sneer.

 

“True. Tales,” he said with a bit of force, face split in a wide smile.

 

“Alright then,” Louise leaned forward, “Where’s your proof?”

 

“Um,” Siesta hesitantly interrupted, “Not that this isn’t a…fun topic, but can we get back to our family?”

 

Johan waved her down, “In a moment; this is actually related to all that anyhow.” The two mages ignored the bewildered looks surrounding them.

 

“Proof,” Louise demanded.

 

Her master simply leaned back, gesturing to himself. “You’re looking at him.”

 

She stared blankly at him for a moment. She then frowned, “What, did your Divines save your life as an infant?”

 

He laughed heartily, “No, but you’re not too far off the mark.”

 

Louise laughed in turn, “What, they’re the reason you were born in the first place?” She laughed harder, pausing only when she took notice of the gleam in his eyes. She grimaced, “You _cannot_ be serious.”

 

“I’m afraid I have to take her side on this one, Boss,” Derflinger spoke up for the first time in the conversation (Louise tried not to get offended at his pained tone of voice). “I mean, I’m a talking sword with a sense of smell, but…” he trailed off.

 

Johan didn’t say anything in reply, though his smile did grow wider. He then looked to the side and took a deep breath. Only to slowly, anticlimactically, release that breath. He looked over to Juliet. “Do you think you can handle a bit of a fright?”

 

“Depends, will this fright try and kill me?” the old woman drawled.

 

He paused, humming in thought. “…No,” he slowly said, “No, I think not.”

 

Juliet narrowed her eyes slightly. She then shrugged, “Go on then.” Johan nodded, and once more, took a deep breath.

 

**_“HUN!_ ** **”**

 

His voice came out as a breathy shout, but Louise could feel the table shake, as though he’d slammed his body against it. Then, a portal appeared within the room. But not a purple portal that linked to Oblivion. No, this portal was pale-white, thin rays of golden light seeping out from within. She idly noted several shrieks of fright.

 

Then, a woman stiffly stepped out from the portal. A spirit, given her translucent, blue body. Her hair—whatever its true color was—rested at her shoulder, which was covered—along with the rest of her body—in a sturdy set of steel armor. Louise made a face when she saw three long, jagged gashes upon her stern face, over her eyes and lips, and a second later was relieved to see her eyes blink, and her lips shift; some sort of tattoo, then (a terrible one, in her opinion).

 

The spirit turned to Johan, and her posture relaxed, lips thinning into a soft grin. “Dragonborn,” she said, her voice echoing unnaturally, “it is good to see you are safe.” Her face then morphed into a heavy scowl. “But I would like to know why you waited so long to call upon one of us.”

 

If Johan was worried about the spirit’s ire, he hid it well. He instead scoffed, waving his hand at her, “Durnehviir knows, and through him everyone that can be of actual assistance to my return to Tamriel.”

 

That did nothing to appease the spirit. She stood straighter, scowl widening. “That’s no excuse, Dragonborn.” Louise wondered what that title meant. He did admit to living among dragons for a time, perhaps it was a term of respect?

 

“Oh, so Tsun and Shor are willing to breach the border between realms and bring me home?” The spirit flinched, and Johan pressed, “Are they, Gormlaith?”

 

“…Shor, through Tsun, has officially written off the matter as beyond our concern,” the now-named Gormlaith bitterly admitted. Johan hummed, smug. She then cast her gaze to the rest of the people in the room, “And who are they?” she asked with a cocked brow.

 

“A very nice group of people I need to prove something to. Well,” he briefly pointed to Louise, “prove something to _her_. I get the feeling my word alone would have sufficed for the rest of them.”

 

“It would have,” Jessie managed to squeak.

 

“What point, Dragonborn?” Gormlaith said exasperatedly.

 

He smiled grandly, “Could you please inform Louise, and everyone else while you’re at it, what ‘Dragonborn’ means?”

 

She cocked a brow, “Could you not do the same?”

 

“I concur,” Louise suddenly spoke up. “Master,” she leaned towards him, “why summon a dead woman to tell me something when you could easily do so yourself.”

 

“Because you won’t believe me,” he stated simply.

 

“Master…” she said, hurt. They’d been through so much together; she’d learned so many things thanks to him.

 

“Oh,” he groaned, frowning, “Don’t be like that! It’s nothing against you, truly. It’s just…frankly the truth is so outlandish, that most anyone in their right mind, especially one with your historical and religious background, would not believe me.” He gestured to Gormlaith, “She’s just…assurance, that what I’m telling you is the truth.”

 

“So…what, spirits cannot lie?” Louise asked, skeptical.

 

“They can, actually.”

 

Before Louise could throw her hands up in frustration, the spirit said. “Tell me, child. Do you believe that the Dragonborn would waste the time summoning a spirit from beyond the mortal plane, only to train it to lie for him?”

 

Louise had to consider that. Would he? Johan was an eccentric, powerful man. He was intelligent, a genius, even. He liked to laugh, sometimes at her expense. He was also devious; able to kill men and dispose of their remains in such a way that no one would suspect him. But would he do something so lengthy for something so…petty?

 

Eventually, she answered, “No, I do not believe he would.”

 

Gormlaith smirked lightly. “Dragonborn,” she began, “is a term reserved for those blessed by Akatosh.” Louise recalled that to be one of the names for the draconic god of time. “A being with the body of a mortal, and the soul of a dragon.”

 

The old Louise would have exploded into a rage at such a revelation; the Church taught that Humans, even Commoners, were above beasts. To claim to have the soul of a dragon was both blasphemy and an admittance to being less than human.

 

Currently, Louise narrowed her eyes, staying silent. Contemplating her next words. What did it mean, to have the soul of a dragon?

 

Derflinger broke the silence, “So…one of your parents was a dragon?”

 

Johan laughed heartily, “No, my mother and father were wholly human—well, technically,” he added beneath his breath.

 

“Wait, wha—"

 

“One earth-shattering topic at a time,” Johan quickly interrupted him. He then turned back to Louise, grinning, “I can hear the gears in your head turning. What are you thinking, mal lahzey?”

 

“…When you say ‘dragon’, can I assume that you mean ‘Dovah’?” He nodded. “Then you…having this draconic soul relates to their language. The Thum?”

 

“Thu’um,” he corrected her, “and yes, it does. It allows me to more easily learn the language. What takes most men years, takes me weeks at most.”

 

“Why?” Louise was aware that they were drifting further and further away from Siesta’s family, but if she was going to be forced down this…ludicrous path, she was going to learn all she could.

 

“Dovah have an innate understanding of the Thu’um; it’s ingrained in their very souls. They were born with the ability. Since I bear such a soul, I too have an innate understanding of the language.”

 

Louise rolled her eyes, “Okay, sure. But what makes those souls special?” She gestured grandly at him, “ _You_ said that the Thuum—”

 

“Thu’um.”

 

Louise narrowed her eyes as her master grinned impishly, “You said that it allows one to alter reality. Originally, I assumed it be a skill Dovah had developed, but if it’s innate, then what makes them special.”

 

“Because they are children of Akatosh, child,” Gormlaith answered.

 

Louise blinked. “Oh…that makes sense.”

 

“It does?!” Siesta blurted out.

 

“Yes.” She turned to her friend, “According to Johan, Akatosh is a draconic deity. Just as the Founder favors Nobles, it makes sense for him to favor dragons, to bless them with a special gift to set them apart.” She returned her attention to Johan, “So, what? After living with them for so long, they used their magic to alter your very soul?”

 

Idly, Louise could see some of Siesta’s—and a few of the adults in the room—confusion clear up (and then immediately return upon her second statements). Only for Johan to say, “That’s…not quite true.” She turned to him with a furrowed brow. He then said, “They are literally his children; Akatosh split off pieces of his Divine soul and molded them into Dovah.”

 

Well, that changed things. To make the claim of a dragon to be divine was—her mind froze, as she just realized the implication of his statement. She rose to her feet slamming her hands on the table. “Hold on,” she shouted above the startled cries of Siesta’s family, “A…Are you claiming that you…you…” she couldn’t say it. It was too outlandish to even think of.

 

“Yes, Louise. To be Dragonborn—or as the Dovah say, **_DOVAHKIIN_** ,” his voice came out in a deep, thunderous rumble, “is to bear an Aedric soul, granted by Akatosh upon birth.”

 

“Y-Y-Y-You” Marcus said with a fearful quiver, “are a god?”

 

“Half-god. Well,” Johan stroked his beard thoughtfully, “maybe not _quite_ half. At least a third.” As more than a few people (Louise chief among them) started to clamor once more, Johan abruptly held his hands up, “Can I assume that you all believe my words to be true.”

 

Louise stayed silent as everyone else hesitantly said ‘yes’. When all eyes turned to her, she gulped. “I…do not believe you to be a liar, Master.” Yes, she most certainly believed that he held his words to be true. She could accept the existence of other worlds, other gods, dragons with the ability to manipulate reality, even. But demigods…no. Not yet, at least.

 

He stared at her for a moment, smiling softly. He then cleared his throat, “Right. So, back to how this is relevant to you all.” He looked down bashfully, “Namely that it’s my fault that the Daedric Titan rose up yesterday.”

 

“What?!” Louise jumped; she’d almost forgotten Gormlaith was still in the room. The spirit shot her arm forward, grabbing Johan by the beard and forcibly turning him towards her. “You faced a Daedric Titan?! Alone?!”

 

“First of all, ow. Second of all, it really wasn’t any trouble.”

 

“Not that!” Gormlaith shouted. “You _know_ I’ve always wanted to whet my blade against one of those abominations!” Louise paled. She _what?_

 

“Trust me, you’d be left wanting.”

 

The spirit growled, only to pause as her form started to shimmer. She stepped back, looking down at her body confusedly, “What the…I still have more time.”

 

“Durnheviir’s time was cut short as well,” Johan said, brushing his beard back into place. “Has to be the relative distance between the realms.”

 

Gormlaith scowled, “Well, be sure to call me back soon bec—“ The spirit disappeared with a soft pop.

 

“Where’d she go?” Siesta asked.

 

“Back to Sovngarde—the Nord afterlife. No no no,” he said, curtailing the budding questions on everyone’s lips, “not now. I’d like to get through the rest of my points before the hour is up.” He drummed his fingers against the table, “Where was I?”

 

“It’s your fault we almost died?” Juliet dryly stated.

 

Before Johan could reply, Marcus blurted out, “How can you be so calm about all this?!”

 

“No sense making fusses over all this chaos we can’t control,” she said sagely. “Best we can do is learn what we can, and plan afterwards.” Marcus sighed raggedly, but relaxed a touch nonetheless.

 

“Wise words,” Johan said with a smile. “Anyway; Daedric Titans were specifically made with the intention to mock Dovah, and being a lesser Daedra,” Louise almost laughed at the idea that such a creature could be classified as ‘lesser’, “it holds an instinctual, all-encompassing, irrational hatred for Aedra.” He gestured to himself with a wry smile, “Lucky me for hosting an Aedric soul.”

 

“But, why was it…hibernating?”

 

“I’d classify it as comatose, but best I can figure the manner in which it travelled to this world was very damaging and it passed out by necessity of survival.”

 

“So, why’d grandpa survive?” Sylvia asked.

 

At that, Johan lazily said, “Luck. Divine Intervention. Sheer force of will. His Mortal soul was less vulnerable to the chaotic magic that teleported him than the Titan’s Daedric soul. Pick one.” His short list was met with annoyed glares, but he shrugged them off. “But I’d like to focus on a _far_ more interesting subject regarding your family.”

 

“Something more interesting than the fact that our grandfather is from another world?” Margot asked with a faint laugh.

 

“Yes,” came Johan’s blunt reply. “The, frankly, absurd strength everyone that bears Rowley’s blood seems to possess.”

 

Marcus cocked a brow, “Is this the part where you tell us that it’s some strange ability inherent to people from your world?” Louise doubted that was the case. Not only did Johan not have such abilities, but he too was astonished by their physical prowess.

 

“Oh, no. Your strength comes from magic.”

 

Louise found herself choking on air. She idly noted Siesta hurriedly rubbing her back in an effort to soothe her, but mostly ignored that in favor of glaring at her master. “What?” she asked forcefully.

 

“Magic. Albeit a subliminal form of it.”

 

“We…we’re mages?” Siesta asked breathlessly.

 

“No,” Johan answered. “Well…actually, I don’t know. Would have to run a couple tests—but odds are at least one of you can cast magic.”

 

“Hold on just a moment!” Louise shouted, one more rising from her seat. “Now, I’m willing to,” she grimaced, “ponder a great many of the things you’ve told us today. But this—Commoners being able to use magic—it’s heresy of the highest order!” She punctuated her words by slamming her open palms against the table.

 

Her master regarded her coolly, “Oh, mal lahzey, have you not learned anything under my tutelage? There’s much more to life than what lies within your sight.” Louise opened her mouth to retort, but he silenced her with a wave of the hand, “Save your breath, Louise. I won’t debate with you at this time.”

 

She snarled silently, but returned to her seat nonetheless. She felt a hand gently envelop her own and turned to see Siesta staring at her. Her dark eyes shone with bewilderment, but there was concern there too. Louise selfishly chose to believe that concern was solely focused on her and let it soothe her.

 

Johan nodded at her, and then turned back to the others. “In my homeland, the stars weave thirteen constellations. These constellations confer blessings upon children born under them. Rowley was born under ‘The Steed’, known to grant blessings of strength and vigor.”

 

“So that’s the reason we can…” Alan trailed off, but he lifted the table a few inches off the ground with one hand.

 

“You’d think so, but not really.”

 

More than a few people, Louise included, groaned at his words. “Enough with the word games!” Sylvia spat. “Say it plainly.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Johan said in a not at all sorry tone, “old habits. Eh…point is, no. At most, The Steed gifts people with above-average stamina—even if they allow themselves to grow fat and lazy, they can outpace most other men. Not the ability to lift tables with one hand or move bales of hay as if they were toys.”

 

“Then why?”

 

Johan was silent for a moment. “In Tamriel,” he slowly began, “magic flows through all; the people, the wind, the ground. Magic is everywhere. Even if you cannot use it—such as Rowley—it is still ingrained in your mind, body, and soul. By contrast, Halkeginia is a land where magic is sparse, and zealously guarded.” Louise wanted to dispute his words; that Halkeginia was a land brimming—overflowing—with magic. But alas, Commoners existed. “A land where there are people born with not one spark of magic within their bodies. Rowley’s wife, Laura, was one such person.” He drummed his fingers against the table, silent. No doubt waiting to see if someone would ask a question or try and piece something together.

 

Louise, the only one with sufficient knowledge, but lacking the care to put it all together, said, “Get to the point, Master.”

 

He just smiled. “Sorry. Habits.” He drew his hand back, dropping it against his lap, “In Tamriel, the constellations’ blessings do not pass from parent to child. No one can truly say why, but over the years scholars have posited that the reason is that the parents blessings cancel each other out. Leaving the child free to gain the blessing of whichever stars are shining overhead. Experiments have been proposed to test this hypothesis, but no one’s ever had the…heart to see one through.” Louise shivered at his dark tone and darker eyes. “Regardless, you folk seem to prove it right. Albeit to a far greater extent than anyone over thought. But that may be due to the fact that, again, the _complete_ absence of magic Laura’s body.” He raised his hand, magic glowing within the palm. There a shimmer in the air above him, and a wooden box full of books dropped onto it. “These are some books on the various subjects I’ve touched upon; Dovah, the stars, Tamriel in general. Read them. We’ll discuss more when I come back.”

 

“You’re leaving?” Marcus asked incredulously as Johan rose to his feet.

 

“Yes. Not for long. I just need to borrow the nearest forge.” He paused, “Tarbes has one, right?”

 

“It’s run by a family friend.” Juliet answered. She then asked, “Why?”

 

“I mean to create and then enchant jewelry—rings, bangles, necklaces—for your protection.”

 

Louise felt Siesta’s grip tighten. “What do we need protection from?” her friend asked.

 

Johan sighed wearily, “Far, _far_ , too many things. Oh!” he stopped just before leaving the room, turning around, “inform the children at your discretion.” And with that, he was gone.

 

Louise ignored the irate shouts of the adults around her in favor of staring at the box before her. She’d certainly heard a lot…strange claims in such a short amount of time.

 

She could follow him, she mused. It would certainly be easier and faster than reading a bunch of books and waiting for him to return. But he was heading to a forge; and though she’d only ever visited one forge, when she was a child, she could recall that it was a hot and messy place, and she didn’t want to deal with that on top of everything else.

 

Thus, ignoring the din surrounding her, she pulled the box closer, and grabbed one of the books on top. ‘ _The Dovah of Tamriel_ ’’ it read. She opened it up, frowning at the author’s name. ‘Ysmir’, it read. Just the one name; no surname, no titles. Not even a dedication to a school or person. But still, Master Johan wouldn’t have chosen the book if it were worthless. She supposed it would just be another thing to ask him upon his return.

 

It was then that she noticed that the room had grown quiet. She looked up, meeting the blank stares with a soft glare. Wordlessly, she slid the box to the center of the table and returned to the book.

 

It read:

         ‘Dovah, otherwise known as Dragons, are creatures surrounded by mystery and heresy. Some say they are evil; others, good. They are either cruel heralds of death or are as ‘overtly malicious’ as a hurricane sweeping across the shore. They want to rule over mortals as if they were gods, or they merely wish to be left alone.

         The truth, as always, is much more complex than it would appear.’

 

“Um, Louise?” The young mage lifted her head, cocking a brow at the sheepish look on Siesta’s face. Her friend pointed to her book, which Louise could see was titled, ‘Atmorans: A Study’. She asked, “What’s this word mean?”

 

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Louise leaned forward, quickly finding the word in question. “‘Genealogical’. It relates to bloodlines—you know, tracing them to find ancestors and such.”

 

Siesta hummed in understanding, returning her attention to the book. Louise noticed that she stuck the tip of her tongue out as she concentrated.

 

“On your left,” Derflinger suddenly said. Louise turned around, face falling at the sight of several sheepish faces, along with several open books.

 

She sighed, rising to her seat. “Alright, alright. Everyone stay put.” She quickly stymied any attempts to apologize; not their fault they didn’t have vocabularies as extensive as hers.

 

**Line Break**

 

“I have need of your forge,” Johan said as he slammed the door to the blacksmith’s shop open.

 

The man behind the counter flinched, but quickly plastered a smile on his face. “Certainly, Sir. We have a variety of—”

 

“You misunderstand,” Johan said as he reached the counter. “I need to _use_ your forge.”

 

At that, the man frowned, “Er…me and my sons are more than capable of—"

 

Johan tossed a bag full of coin onto the counter, cutting him off. Some of the money spilled out, glinting in the light. The man froze, eyes widening. He looked up to him, then back to the bag. He lifted a trembling hand, “F-F-Forge is right through there.”

 

The Nord grunted wordlessly, gently brushing past the man and entering the forge. Once inside, he took off his cloak, swapping it for the apron that hung off a nearby rack. The forge itself was dim, so as he went about setting it up, he opened a portal to Oblivion. “Get me the jewelry molds, and gold, silver, steel, and iron ingots. 20 each.”

 

“Iron and steel?” the Dremora asked in genuine curiosity.

 

“Young boys tend to sneer and scoff at gifts of gold and silver.”

 

“Alright then,” it said as it delivered the requested items.

 

The man thanked the demon, and set to work, laying out the molds and deciding to start with the gold first. He figured it’d take at least an hour to go through each type of metal. And another hour to enchant everything. That’d be plenty of time for everyone to read through at least one book each.

 

He just thanked Kynareth that he got remembered to get rid of any books that referenced elves and the beast races. That was a bag of cats that he didn’t want to open with so many people around. It would get out eventually—they deserved to know the whole truth of their forefather’s homeland—but he wanted the chance to pacify Louise first before he told everyone else. Nothing against the girl, but if her vehement reaction to even a passing mention of elves was the norm, then he’d have a lot of work to do.  

 

**A/N: Just when I think I’m out of Tarbes, it grabs me by the ankles and pulls me back in. Be sure to leave a review. Later.**  


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